


love me do: a victuuri week compilation

by thankyouforexisting



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: AU, Angst, Character Study, Cheesy, Confessions, Crack, Cuddling, Embarrassing Situations, First Kiss, Fluff, Humor, I have no shame, M/M, Magic, Medieval, Reincarnation, Science Fiction, Superheroes, Superpowers, Time Travel, Underwear, Victor has ice powers, Yuuri has food powers, Yuuri is Victor's biggest fan, super corny, victor finds yuuri's posters what do you expect tbh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-22 10:59:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9605021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thankyouforexisting/pseuds/thankyouforexisting
Summary: Every chapter is a short fic based on one of the Victuuri Week prompts.Day 1: Confessions- Victor finds Yuuri's posters.Day 2: Time TravelIn which Yuuri has to interview someone from the past, and Victor was a famous figure skater who died about 50 years ago. It's hard to interview someone when you're either flirting or gossipping, fyi. /Day 3: Reassurance/Hope.Day 4: Free. Superpowers and superheroes being domestic.Day 6: ReincarnationYuuri doesn’t know how long they stay there, frozen in that moment, how long he thinks about the things he wants to say to Victor, the things he wants to say - not now, but in time, as he grows to know him better. How long he thinks about the fact that he truly wants to know him better, that he’s letting his soul be touched by someone for the first time in years.He doesn’t know how long they stay there, a knight and a mage - the unlikeliest of companions - but he does know he never looks away.





	1. i have a confession to make

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!!! Happy Victuuri Week, y'all! I'm really excited to participate in this, and I'm attempting to write a fic of 1k to 3k for every day *fingers crossed*  
> If you like a fic and would like to see it continued, please ask. :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yuuri,” Victor asks, his voice suspiciously cheerful. “What’s this?”
> 
> Victor is holding a poster. Not just a poster, though. The poster. The 2013 Victor Nikiforov doing a swimsuit spread for Vogue poster that he hunted for for endless months.  
> Although he knows it’s pointless, Yuuri racks his brain for any, any possible way to explain himself that doesn’t include the sentence: “I was obsessed with you and I maybe jerked off to you when I was 15 once or ten times.”

Yuuri’s pretty sure that Victor, being one of the best figure skaters alive, is aware that most of the community, including Yuuri, worships the ground he steps on.

 

He’s just, um, he’s just not sure Victor knows  _ just _ how much Yuuri  _ adores _ him.

 

…

 

It starts one day, when Yuuri least expects it.

 

Victor asked him to go live in St. Petersburg with him a few days ago, still high from the silver medal, and he accepted without thinking, using the time they could’ve used to plan to instead make out as much as possible.

 

But moving from one country to another, moving to a new house, means packing. It means many boxes, personal effects, and more not fun stuff. So they fly to Japan once more, both of them, despite the fact that Yuuri tries to get Victor to leave for Russia directly (“I’m not leaving my fiancé for one second, now that I have him.” “...Alright.”), and start preparations.

 

First comes the announcing the arrangement to his family and friends here in Hasetsu. It’s hard, even though Yuuri feels a little embarrassed to admit it. He’s already 24, but he’s spent the last few years either away in Detroit or spending most of his time training, and leaving once more makes his throat close up. His parents look a little misty-eyed when he tells them, but congratulate him and Victor on their engagement, hugging them enthusiastically and yapping away about wedding preparations and what-not, to Yuuri’s horror. They just got engaged, do they have to talk about the wedding yet? Don’t they get time to… rest? 

 

Yuuko and Takeshi get slightly more emotional (“My little Yuuri is getting  _ married _ !” “Yuuko, you’re not that much older than me!” “Stop making your mother cry, Yuuri.”), and the triplets exhort an oath from Victor in which he vows to send them exclusive pictures of them in their day-to-day lives so they can post it on their Instagram. Yuuri chooses to ignore it.

 

The point is, that mostly goes over well. After the cheesy bits, Yuuri requests a permit so that Russia isn’t able to kick him out until he’s allowed citizenship, gets his papers ready, and finally feels like he’s really,  _ really _ doing this. And that means that they have to start getting his stuff into suitcases, even if it’s just enough clothes to survive until he starts buying his own stuff in Russia.

 

Yuuri, innocent, forgetful Yuuri, thinks,  _ Well, two people pack faster than one, right? _ and  _ I can totally give kisses in exchange for making him lift heavy stuff _ , and asks Victor for some help taking care of the stuff in his room.  

 

Which is what brings them to the current situation:

 

“Yuuri,” Victor asks, his voice suspiciously cheerful. “What’s this?”

 

“What’s wh-?” He turns.

 

Victor is holding a poster. Not just  _ a _ poster, though.  _ The  _ poster. The 2013 Victor Nikiforov doing a swimsuit spread for Vogue poster that he hunted for for endless months.

 

“You weren’t supposed to find that,” Yuuri says. His voice sounds very far away.

 

“Oh yeah,” Victor continues, smirking. “It was in a glass box. As if to be  _ displayed _ . I figured it was very important to you.”

 

He reaches down, picking up a cardboard box. Yuuri is too stunned to move, despite the fact that he knows this is about to get worse. Much,  _ much  _ worse. “But not as important as the  _ framed _ picture of me you have in your night table drawer.  _ Or _ the life-sized poster you have of me in my grand prix outfit from two years ago.” He winks, “That one’s a signed copy.”

 

Although he knows it’s pointless, Yuuri racks his brain for any,  _ any _ possible way to explain himself that doesn’t include the sentence: “I was obsessed with you and I maybe jerked off to you when I was 15 once or ten times.”

 

“...I have a confession to make,” Yuuri whimpers, not meeting Victor’s eyes.

 

…

 

“There’s one thing I don’t quite get,” Victor holds up a long white plastic bag marked in black marker. There are two words in English written on the front: VICTOR COSPLAY. “What’s this?”

 

Yeah, Yuuri’s deleting his Tumblr account.

 

“Oh,  _ wow _ . My 2008 costume covered  _ much _ more skin, Yuuri, you know.” He pauses. “Actually, I’m having a small problem, would you mind trying it on for me and refreshing my memory?”

 

…

 

The next level of complete and utter humiliation happens another day into their meticulous packing, after Yuuri has banned Victor to the couch indefinitely, to his parents’ worried concern (“Are things okay between you two, baby? You just got engaged…”), and it happens the second that Victor finds his short skate undies.

 

His short skate undies are, by the way, his custom-fitted, commissioned baby blue briefs with the front and back of Victor’s head on each side, and a cute speech bubble that says, “Hit some quads in bed for me?”

 

Yuuri throws Victor’s make-up set out the window in retaliation for the ten minutes he spends laughing, calming down, looking back at the briefs, and starting to laugh all over again.

 

…

Two days later, Yuuri opens his bedroom door to find Victor standing on the corridor proudly, hands on his hips in a Superman pose, wearing nothing but briefs with a picture of Yuuri’s face stapled to the front.

 

Yuuri begrudgingly removes the bed ban. 

… 

“You named… you named your  _ dog _ after me?” Victor’s smirking now. “That’s...kinky.”

 

“I was  _ ten _ , Victor,” Yuuri swats at him with his passport, glaring. “You can let the teasing go now.”

 

For a few minutes, Victor does, holding his hands up in surrender and leaning against Yuuri to press a kiss on his forehead, rubbing his cheeks with his thumbs, “Alright, alright. I just think it’s cute. Am I allowed to just ask things if I don’t make fun? I always want to know more about young Yuuri Katsuki.”

 

Yuuri grumbles, tilting his head up to receive more kisses as an apology.

 

“... Did you dress the dog up in my outfits, though? Because otherwise I think it’s a missed opportuni - “

 

“ _ Stop _ .”

 

…

 

“Yuuri, why does your mother know my favourite song and my grandfather’s last name?”

 

“...There was a competition on Victor Nikiforov trivia, okay? I had to practice!”

 

Victor smiles, “What was the prize?”

 

He sighs in defeat, “A ticket to one of your exhibitions.”

 

His fiancé lifts him up in a hug, squeezing him tight and pressing their cheeks together, “I can’t believe you’re this precious.”

…

 

“Um, Yuuri, why did your sweet old neighbour tell me she’s glad that ‘I finally came to see my husband, after being so long overseas’?”

 

“No comment.”

 

…

 

“You know,” Victor starts the day before they have to leave for St. Petersburg, with all their bags prepared. “I was wondering if…” He hesitates, biting his lower lip.

 

“What?” Yuuri hums from his place on the armchair, his fingers threading through Makkacchin’s fur softly. It’s been a hectic couple of days, especially with trying to put his skating gear in his checked baggage in a way that doesn’t scream ‘terrorist’ when he has more blades inside there than any respected butcher would own. 

 

“Well, you seem to have admired me quite a lot,” Victor touches the top of his hand gently, as if to remind him that he doesn’t mind. “I just… Did I do it?”

 

He frowns, “Did what?”

 

“Meet young Yuuri’s expectations,” Victor shrugs self-deprecatingly, a small, unsure smile on his lips, the type of one Yuuri’s never seen before. “I understand that my real self is less… glamorous and fun than what the magazines make it seem, and I’ve, uh, gotten older, so my body isn’t what it used to be before I did five quads in a program.”

 

For a moment, Yuuri is absolutely and completely shocked into silence.

 

He’s sparked into action pretty soon by the vulnerability in Victor, though, standing up from the armchair and moving until he’s sitting on the couch beside his fiancé (mentally apologizing to the poodle for ceasing the petting session), swiftly catching his hands.

 

“Victor,” Yuuri says, firm. “Look at me.”

 

Hesitantly, Victor does.

 

“I was a huge Victor Nikiforov fanboy, alright?” his cheeks redden, but he carries on. “I was a total stalker, and you were my idol, I’m not denying that. I’m not even denying that you might have played a small, insignificant role in my sexual awakening.”

 

That makes the edges of Victor’s lips twitch, just slightly.

 

“But that means that I was also terrified of you,” he confesses, rubbing his thumb over Victor’s wrist reassuringly, meeting his eyes again. “You were a big celebrity who charmed the pants off cameramen and who ate Grand Prix for breakfast. I couldn’t even ask you for a picture when we first met!”

 

“You had no problem asking me for more when you were drunk,” Victor adds, because he’s still bitter about the fact that Yuuri doesn’t remember that.

 

He holds up a warning finger, “We’re not discussing the banquet. What I mean is, I was really shy before I got to know you, remember?” He smiles a little, when he thinks about the first few months Victor spent at the onsen, wandering around in a lazily tied yukata and drinking his way around Hasetsu’s most touristic spots. “I only managed to actually stand close to you once I was comfortable around you, once I  _ knew _ you.” He hits him on the forearm lightly, almost a little bit offended, “I fell in love with  _ you _ , Victor, not my teenage wanking folder.”

“Wanking folder?” Victor just can’t let it go, can’t he?

 

“Oh,  _ shut _ up,” he hisses. “I can’t have  _ one _ conversation without - hmph!”

 

And well. Yuuri can take kissing on the couch.

 

…

 

Yuuri’s favourite thing about living with Victor in St. Petersburg in their cozy, warm flat filled with big rugs, is that whenever Yuri comes into the place and sees the two matching walls with Yuuri and Victor memorabilia displayed proudly, he turns a rather entertaining shade of green.

**fin**  
  



	2. i didn't need to graduate, anyway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on the prompt: "i’ve been brought to the future for historical study and you’re one of the scholars questioning me." In which Yuuri has to interview someone from the past, and Victor was a famous figure skater who died about 50 years ago. It's hard to interview someone when you're either flirting or gossipping, fyi. /  
> "Um, Mr. Nikiforov,” he starts, wincing at how stupidly awkward he sounds.
> 
> “Oh, please.” From where he’s sitting down at the table, Victor smiles at him, leaning forward just a bit, and sets his palm over the back of Yuuri’s hand, making him snap up to stare at him. “Just call me Victor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy day 2! wrote this in under 3 hours while screaming the whole time. it's an absolute mess i'm so sorry frens  
> remember how i said max 4k. yeah me too i hate my life

 

It’s Historical Interview Week, and Yuuri is completely and utterly fucked.

 

He can’t actually excuse himself in any way; Phichit had warned him that he was running out of time last semester, pointedly shoving him the request forms at him in their shared room and throwing pens on his table. Yuuri agreed to fill them out and go get his appointment, but then there was Nationals, and exams, and well… he’d forgotten about it.

 

He groans, hitting his forehead against the table. 

 

“I can’t believe you’re going to fail your ghost interview,” Phichit shakes his head in disapproval, crossing his arms over his chest and lifting his chin up. “It’s like, the only upside of going to college.”

 

“It’s a day-long interview you have to do a report on, Phichit,” Yuuri mumbles, voice muffled by the table.

 

“Yeah, but with someone  _ from the past _ ,” his best friend shakes his head again, as if he’s disgusted by his terrible procrastinating self, and sighs, long-suffering. “This is the only chance we get at meeting time travellers unless we go into the Agency.”

 

He means the History Agency, which handles all time travel at the moment. It’s gone through its rough patches (like accidentally bringing back the Spanish Influenza, or releasing a random man from the thirteen hundreds in Tokyo), but they mostly do okay now, a few decades after its founding. Not counting Historical Interview Week, in which a special selected number of university students get the privilege of interviewing someone from the past, the people at the Agency are the only ones allowed to actually time travel, which means that every little kid wants to be an Agent.

 

Except Yuuri. Yuuri’s always wanted to skate.

 

“Well, I wasn’t really looking forward to it anyway,” he rubs at his eyes tiredly, pursing his lips. Yuuri stands up, pushing his chair into the table. “I should go and ask my Professor what to do so that she won’t murder me for failing to show up at the Agency.”

 

Phichit smirks, “Nah, that won’t be necessary.”

 

Yuuri blinks, not following.

“I already turned in your forms for you.”

 

… 

 

He already mentioned to his friend that he wanted Barbara Wesnicks, an expert in ecology from the early 1970s, when he first met him, so it doesn’t even occur to him that Phichit may have requested someone else.

 

…

 

Yuuri walks into the interview room (there’s a designated place for the interviews to take place, in order to avoid exposing time travellers to something possibly dangerous) and freezes.

 

Oh. My. God.

 

“Hello, hello, yes?”  _ Victor Nikiforov _ says, sitting comfortably in a plastic chair set in the middle of the white room, wearing  _ jeans and a t-shirt _ .

 

Being an obsessed kid with a deceased idol (a fact he usually shares with directioners and Beyoncé followers) Yuuri’s always known that MP4 purists from the 2000s claim that all good film was shot with with digital camera, and that the nanotech they’ve got right now just sucks all the art out of everything. But in all the thousands of dusty recordings that Yuuri’s watched of Victor Nikiforov, in the collected DVD editions of his most famous programs ( _ “Stay Close To Me” Included, for half the price! _ ), he’s never been prepared to see Victor in person.

 

The shade of blue that dances on Victor’s eyes, twirling in the light of the room, is nothing like what he’s seen on his crappy holo at home. It’s breathtakingly  _ real _ and  _ present _ .

 

Victor Nikiforov  _ beams _ at Yuuri, as if he - a failtastic figure skater whose biggest dream is to finally be able to afford no-fat katsudon - is the most exciting thing he’s ever seen. His long,  _ glorious _ , hair falls down over his shoulders in a beautiful cascade of grey. 

 

Yuuri’s dead. 

 

He’s actually dead. He’s finally free from life, he’s in heaven, and he’s meeting Victor Nikiforov.

 

After a few seconds of just  staring without letting himself breathe, Yuuri notices that Victor ( _ Victor Nikiforov _ ) is frowning at him slightly, pouting. “You are Yuuri Katsuki, no?”

 

He’s got an old Russian accent. After forever wondering r if his voice would actually sound like in the cringey interviews he’d managed to get his hands on, he now knows that Victor’s got an  _ actual old Russian accent _ .  It’s the cutest thing that Yuuri has ever heard. 

 

“Yes,” he squeaks out, still staring. 

  
  


“Wonderful!” Victor claps his hands in delight, standing up from the chair to move and walk up to him. The way his legs swing, effortlessly confident and swift, reminds Yuuri of his flawless lands on the ice, of his unhesitant smile as he faced the camera. “I was so excited to find out I was requested! No one ever wants a famous figure skater in the ecology group, you know?” He furrows his brow a little, pressing an index finger to his lips, “I don’t think I’m among the options, actually.”

 

There is no doubt in Yuuri’s blown mind that Phichit did this, somehow. He’s made no effort to hide his Victor Nikiforov obsession, telling him about how he’d first started figure skating watching the old tapes from when the man was still competing, considered part of the sport’s history. It’s been about 50 years since Victor died (although thinking that while he’s actually  _ looking _ at a young Victor Nikiforov in front of him seems incredibly odd), but most of his records remain unbeaten.

 

“Um,” Yuuri flushes, fidgeting with the edge of his t-shirt. Oh sweet mother of Isaac Asimov, he’s meeting  _ Victor Nikiforov _ and he isn’t wearing a suit! He’s finally paying for his lazy fashion choices, after years of Guang-Hong’s disapproving sighs. “I t-think my friend requested you. I didn’t know you were going to be here.”

 

Victor’s smile completely falls off his face, in a change in expression so completely plain that it’s heartbreaking to see his lips turn down, his brows furrowing at the sides while his eyes widen, “Did you not want me here?”

 

“N-no, of course I did!” Yuuri rushes to correct him, actually taking a step towards him in his effusiveness. He’s pretty sure his face is redder than a communist manifesto. “I’m,” he swallows hard, looking down at the ground. “I’m a huge fan.”

 

Immediately, Victor’s beam is back on, and he flurries to Yuuri’s side, grabbing his hands and lifting them up, “A fan? Ooh, I didn’t know I had fans this far in the future.” He pauses slightly, tilting his head and tapping his lips in thought, releasing Yuuri’s left hand momentarily. “Although it  _ is _ true that I am somewhat of a miracle.”

 

“Yeah,” Yuuri breathes.  _ God _ , he smells nice. Like somewhere between lemon soap and uh...something that smells nice. “You are.”

 

Victor’s eyes darken.

 

…

 

It takes them a little while to get through the actual interview, although not for lack of trying on Yuuri’s part.

 

He knows they’ve got a time limit (there’s only the day to actually keep the person in the current timeline, to keep them from being missed in their time) and even though he’s mostly swimming in elated joy, basking in the glory of being friends with Phichit, a recently-discovered master of manipulation, Yuuri has to turn in a report at some time if he wants to avoid the kick.

 

So he takes out his meticulously crafted questionnaire (actually written at 2 am the night before while crying and shoving coffee down his throat, whimpering, “Please, just fail me. Please.”) and sets it on the table, a slight fluttery feeling in his abdomen at the thought of getting to  _ know _ Victor Nikiforov. 

 

Well, except all his questions are for an ecology expert. No matter, he can adapt.

 

“Um, Mr. Nikiforov,” he starts, wincing at how stupidly  _ awkward _ he sounds.

 

“Oh, please.” From where he’s sitting down at the table, Victor smiles at him, leaning forward just a bit, and sets his palm over the back of Yuuri’s hand, making him snap up to stare at him. “Just call me Victor.”

 

_ I love you so much, Phichit, I will do the dishes  _ every day of the year _ , I will never complain about selfies while I’m in the shower again in my life, I am  _ so lucky _ to have you  _  - 

 

“O-okay,” Yuuri squeaks out, sounding like he’s being strangled. Victor feels warm. There’s a feeling at the back of his mind that’s yelling: “He’s a dude from the past! You could get like, mallaria or something!”, even though he’s not quite  _ sure _ how someone gets mallaria in the first place. But if there’s something he can recall about the Agency is how thorough they are in ensuring no diseases cross-time, and it’s good to be exposed to non-harmful microbes, anyway, strengthens the immune system. That’s the reason why he doesn’t move his hand. Of course it is.

 

“I have a few questions,” he dares to glance up at  _ Victor _ , feeling shyer than ever (he can’t believe he was pole dancing at a club on Saturday to pay for his ramen and he can’t look at this guy because their  _ hands _ are touching). “Um, if you don’t mind answering.”

 

“Well, I am here for the pleasure of your company, Yuuri,” Victor drawls, his thumb rubbing over the arch of Yuuri’s fingers slowly. “But I always think questions are terribly fun to answer to.”

 

Yuuri blinks, struggling to get his breath back. “Right. Yes. My company. Pleasure. Yes. Ah, er, the first question is if you actually believed in time travel before you came here.”

 

It’s the standard first question for any person from the past that’s staying here temporarily, as a kind of in-joke with the Agency. Nerds, all of them, they love validation of their theories. 

 

“Hmph,” Victor leans back a little in his chair, crossing his legs. His hands leave Yuuri, but he’s still looking directly at him. “Well, I didn’t believe it was possible at the time. I thought it would probably cause more trouble than do anything good.” Victor’s lips curl into a smirk, and he winks at Yuuri, “But I am glad to be proven wrong.”

 

The room feels terribly hot, all of a sudden.

 

“Great,” Yuuri whimpers. He doesn’t know if he wants to run away or not. “Uh, er, um.” His next question is about the effects on the climate change phenomenon and the predictions at the time before it was solved. Probably not a figure skater’s area of expertise, huh. 

 

Yuuri knows, deep down, he has to turn in a report about  _ something _ to do with ecology. He really does. He really, really does.

 

But…

 

It’s  _ Victor Nikiforov _ . How many times will he have the chance to ask figure skating tips from the greatest of champions? From the most technically-perfect skater he’s ever seen?

 

Yuuri bites his lower lip, already regretting this. He hopes his thesis advisor doesn’t get many years for premeditated murder.

 

“Victor,” he starts, a bit more confident, his voice steadier. He’s going to  _ own _ this interview, dammit. The man’s eyes flicker to meet his, bright and expectant. “Is it okay if I ask you questions regarding your career and figure skating in the 2000s? It’s probably for the best that I don’t quiz you on human-controlled ecosystems.”

 

Victor smiles again, a bit differently from before, where it was all shine and mesmerizing. This one’s a slower, quieter smile, but not any less sincere. “Of course, Yuuri. I thought you’d never ask.”

 

…

 

Apparently, Victor Nikiforov, often praised for his highly emotional performances, doesn’t actually get much inspiration from feelings, at all.

 

“ _ No way _ ,” Yuuri can’t stop himself from calling bullshit, jaw dropping open. He stares at Victor, almost fearful, “But you always seem so  _ into _ it. And like, you have all these  _ love  _ songs…” he trails off.

 

Victor shrugs in a small motion, eyes half-closed as he gives him a slightly self-conscious smile. “I don’t have much time for a life outside of skating, actually,” he admits, almost embarrassed. “I mostly try to surprise the audience, and emotional dramas do that.”

 

Yuuri frowns, cocking his head a little. 

 

Over the few hours they’ve already spent going back and forth over programmes, costume choices and the figure skating community in the 2000s, their chairs have gravitated towards each other naturally, moving from facing in each other at opposite sides of the table to sitting side by side, with Victor happily pointing out differences in modern spelling from his notes, or poking Yuuri’s shoulder if he’s taking too long to write. He’s already whined about why he doesn’t just use the recorder he’s switched on, but Yuuri persists in using ink. He wants to have physical proof of the time he spends with Victor, who’s unraveling worlds and years of history at a time with him, wants to smile at the small drawing of a cat he’s left on the edge of his page, or how he’s signed his name.

 

It’s a bit...overwhelming, to finally meet someone who he’s dreamed about for years, someone so completely new despite the familiarity he’s expected. Victor’s different from what he’d gathered, much livelier and yet petty at the same time, desperate for attention in a way that doesn’t seem annoying and selfish, but craving affection. Yuuri can’t stop asking questions, can’t manage to control himself around Victor; babbling about his favourite parts of Victor’s career (he has to remind himself that this Victor is still 27, and thus hasn’t won his sixth and seventh Grand Prix or his last Olympic medal), and Victor just…  _ lets _ him.

 

That’s why it surprises him so much that a so clearly emotional person can stand there and tell him that he doesn’t base his skating around his heart.

 

“Oh,” Yuuri mumbles. He fidgets with his pen, turning it over his fingers. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable by assuming. I’ve just always skated by how I felt, is all.”

 

Victor smiles at him, his posture loosening up slightly, “I’d love to see you skate, Yuuri.”

 

He almost says,  _ You can _ , but manages to stop himself at the last minute. It’s impossible for him to show Victor how he skates; they can’t even leave this room, and Victor isn’t allowed to stay here for more than one day. After that, the Agency will wipe his memory of the event completely, giving him a fake one instead so that it doesn’t cause psychological trauma. Very soon, Victor won’t remember Yuuri at all.

 

It makes his throat close up.

 

“Yeah,” he whispers, his heart heavy. “I’d love to show you.”

 

…

 

Nighttime falls without either of them truly realizing. The only indicators of time are the watch on the wall of the white interview room and the fact that Agency employees deliver food to them every few hours. 

 

It’s unbelievable how easy both of them slowly move away from figure skating related questions, with a clear purpose and meaning, carefully thought out, to just plain gossipping.

 

“ _ No _ ,” Yuuri gasps, leaning forward, supporting his head with his hands. “Christophe Giacometti did  _ not _ do that at a public swimming pool!”   
  


“It’s true, I swear!” Victor laughs, running his fingers through his hair. He looks a little messier now, less immaculate and perfect, more like someone Yuuri could hold hands with and probably (possibly) not combust because of the sheer inadequacy. His t-shirt is hanging slightly loose, his hair’s messy, and his cheeks are flushed, brightening up when he giggles. “I’m pretty sure we’re going to get arrested one day.”

 

Yuuri raises an eyebrow, smirking, “‘We’?” 

 

Victor shrugs innocently, pursing his lips to keep himself from smiling, “I wasn’t about to let my best friend face the music alone, now, was I?”

 

“You’re a dork,” he  teases, abruptly realizing how true it is. Victor’s spent ten minutes illustrating Yuuri with his favourite instagram filters, describing each one in perfect detail, and mentions his dog in more funny anecdotes than he mentions his friends, although the teenage Yuri Plisetsky (another one of Yuuri’s idols, who’s yet to enter senior championship in Victor’s current time) features prominently in quite a good number of them. 

 

Victor sniffs, moving as if to rest his weight against Yuuri, only to freeze before they actually touch, standing still. Without letting himself think about it, Yuuri very clearly scoots over with his chair, an open invitation.

 

Beaming, Victor curls up on his chair, pushing his knees up so they’re against his chest, and leans on Yuuri, sighing comfortably. His eyes flutter closed. “Hmm, never knew just talking was this exhausting.”

 

“Yeah,” Yuuri agrees, voice a little hoarse. Victor’s hair is soft against his neck, tickling him. “I didn’t use to talk much until I met Phichit.”

 

Victor frowns in thought, “Phichit is the roommate. Best friend.”

 

“Correct,” Yuuri pats his head in reward, laughing at Victor’s delighted mumble. “Yeah, he’s great. I’m from a small town and I didn’t really have that many friends, so it’s been really great to meet him.”

 

“That’s good, Yuuri,” Victor says firmly. His chair creaks. “You deserve to have many great friends. All of the friends.”

 

“Thanks, Victor,” he can’t help but be a little touched. “And so do you, although I’d say Chris is a bad influence.”

 

“At least he doesn’t steal my mascara,” Victor growls.

 

“I’m still not buying the whole ‘Georgi is a mascara thief’ story, you know that, right?”

 

“I’m surrounded by non-believers,” Victor sighs dramatically, smirking.

 

Yuuri checks the watch on the wall. They’ve got five hours.

 

…

 

“What do you want to do, when you finish school?” Victor asks.

 

They’re sitting on the floor now, their backs aching from the uncomfortable chairs, leaning against the wall together. Victor’s doodling on Yuuri’s important ecology notes while bombarding him with questions, arguing that it’s well within his right to ask if Yuuri can, too.

 

“Well, I’ve always wanted to be a professional figure skater for as long as possible,” Yuuri sighs, a trickling drop of self-doubt clouding his good mood. “But I’m not that good, so that’s probably just a few more years. After that…” he fumbles for words. “I’ll have my ecology degree, hopefully. If I had to choose I’d go into species conservation and local flora protection.”

 

“Sounds exciting,” Victor comments quietly.

 

“Yeah, we can’t all be figure skating trailblazers,” Yuuri pokes him, revelling in his yelp. 

 

“No, we can’t,” he agrees. “But I bet you could.” Victor looks… disturbingly sincere. “What good are my records if no one’s going to beat them?”

 

Yuuri closes his eyes, trying to stay completely still. Maybe if he does, if he slows down his body so that no time passes at all, the world will cooperate. The clock will stop ticking. He and Victor can stay in this room forever, bantering and rolling around on the floor like teenagers. Yuuri can hear Victor Nikiforov, his figure skating idol, daring him to surpass him. He can hear his voice, even, the way it curls around unfamiliar consonants and stretches sounds out.

 

But he can’t do that.

 

“They’re there to make you look prestigious,” he tells him.

 

“I already look pretty prestigious,” Victor argues.

 

“You look pretty, alright,” he can’t help but retort. Once he realizes he’s actually said it out loud, his cheeks heat, and he looks at anywhere but Victor’s eyes, heart thudding in his chest.

 

Slowly, gently, reassuringly, Victor threads their fingers together.

 

Two hours.

 

…

 

An hour.

 

“Are you  _ absolutely certain _ that there are no like, iPhone chips implanted in your brain?”

 

“...Not that I know of, Victor. Why would you even  _ ask _ that?”

 

“It’s the future!”

 

…

 

They go quiet, when they both realize there’s thirty minutes left. 

 

It’s been a long time since they’ve been holding hands, leaning on each other, poking and resting their head on the other’s shoulder. Yuuri knows, intellectually, that they’ve been here for 24 hours. That he’s slowly but surely falling asleep, despite the fact that the mere thought of relinquishing time with Victor to nod off alarms him so much it’s scary. But it somehow feels like they’ve known each other forever, like they’ve grown closer in this crazily short period of time than Yuuri’s ever managed to get with anybody else. 

 

Mari would tell him he’s insane. Yuuko would tell him to ‘follow his heart!’. Phichit would probably ask his twitter followers before delivering the final verdict. 

 

“Hey, Yuuri,” Victor mumbles against his t-shirt, the warmth of his breath on Yuuri’s skin making him shiver. “I really loved this. I don’t want to forget it.”

 

“Yeah,” Yuuri swallows. “I don’t want you to forget it, either.”

 

_ I don’t want you to forget me _ .

Victor’s grip on his hand tightens.

 

…

 

The Agent knocks on their door when the full 24 hours have passed. He’s a tall guy with black hair, wearing a suit. He seems friendly; a smiley,  perfectly approachable man, and he asks them if they’re ready to leave.

 

Yuuri despises him.

 

“Could you give us a few more minutes?” Victor smiles back at him, acting as if it isn’t incredibly obvious that they’re cuddling on the ground, totally natural. “Just to say goodbye.”

 

When the Agent nods and closes the door behind him, Victor turns to look at Yuuri in the eyes and asks, “Can I kiss you?”

 

Yuuri’s leaning in before he hears the end of the question.

 

He doesn’t really know who kisses who, truly, because it feels like something they both fall into, a sheer inevitability of contact that drives and seals them together, leaving no room between them. Victor’s lips are slightly chapped, rough against his own, but he honestly couldn’t care less. Yuuri’s hands immediately move up so that his fingers can bury themselves in Victor’s long hair, curling around him. His left hand, though, wraps around Victor’s neck softly, pushing a little, giving him the option to lean away, but Victor accepts enthusiastically, surrounding Yuuri with his arms and squeezing until their chests are touching. Without thinking, Yuuri’s tongue slides open Victor’s lips.

 

Victor’s warm; he’s noticed that while they were sitting beside each other, but Victor’s mouth is  _ warmer _ . He licks at the inside of it, relishing in the way Victor reacts to it, pressing back against him and licking too, happily enjoying himself by just tonguing like teenagers. 

 

They separate to breathe, after a little, although it feels unfair that they need oxygen, if the price to pay is not being able to kiss Victor for as long as he wants to. Both of them are breathing hard, panting into each other’s mouth, holding on too tight, too tight.

 

It’s been a day. 24 hours.

 

“I don’t want you to leave,” Yuuri whispers.

 

_ I could fall in love with you _ , he doesn’t say.

 

_ I might already be in love with you _ , he doesn’t let himself think.

 

“I know,” Victor whispers back.

 

…

 

Victor leaves.

 

…

 

Three days after the day he spends with Victor, while he’s still crying on his living room couch and being fed mostly by Phichit’s valiant efforts, a letter comes from the Agency. 

 

“I don’t want to open it,” Yuuri tells his friend when he mentions it, his voice muffled as he hides his face against the couch. “I really, really want you to put it through the shredder, Phichit.”

 

“Yuuri,” his best friend sighs. He knows it’s unfair to make him do everything for him, especially because Phichit feels incredibly guilty for fixing up their interview, keeps apologizing and then apologizing for apologizing, stressed around how he should treat Yuuri. But being miserable takes a lot out of Yuuri, and his moral integrity isn’t the best at the moment.

 

He’s still cursing the Agency, wishing that it didn’t make him tear up watching Victor’s tapes again, when Phichit lets out the loudest shriek he’s ever heard (and Yuuri was there for the incident where Phichit accidentally took a selfie with the president and he got internet famous). 

 

Yuuri shoots up from the couch, heart beating fast. “Phichit, are you okay? Did something happen?”

 

“WE ARE DELIGHTED TO INFORM YOU,” Phichit screams, running into the living room from his bedroom, shoving the letter into Yuuri’s arm. “THAT VICTOR NIKIFOROV HAS BEEN APPROVED AS A REGISTERED TIME TRAVELLER.”

 

Phichit carries on, screaming his lungs off and jumping on the couch, “AND AS SUCH CAN KEEP HIS MEMORIES AND VISIT OUR CURRENT TIMELINE. MR. NIKIFOROV (TIMELINE 2015) WOULD LIKE TO REQUEST A MEETING WITH YOU, AND HAS SUGGESTED YOU AS THEIR HISTORICAL MENTOR.”

 

Yuuri stares at the letter, somehow registering that this is actually happening. “Oh my god.”

 

“YES.”

 

“ _ Oh my god _ .”

 

“ _ YES _ .”

 

“Victor requested a time travelling permit?” 

 

“Victor totally wants to date you across time!” Phichit yells, grabbing him by the shoulders. “Your love can literally  _ travel through time _ , Yuuri! I am the best friend ever and you do  _ not _ deserve me!”

 

“Oh my god,” Yuuri repeats, and starts crying and laughing at the same time.

 

…

 

Victor, by the way, is definitely  _ most impressed _ by Yuuri’s skating. But he somehow loves his bed (with Yuuri in it, grumbling about cold feet and yet scooting closer to him, sleepily grabbing at his t-shirt) more, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed it! show your appreciation below and validate me pls


	3. he meets me where i am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 3: Reassurance/Hope.  
> “Hey, Yuuri,” Victor nudges his shoulder one day, while they’re sitting. “Want go to the beach later?”
> 
> “Yeah.” Later could mean the next second; it could mean two years from now. When Victor looks at him like that, focused and quiet, as if the world stops turning for a moment, Yuuri would agree to cutting off his own tongue. “What did you have in mind?”
> 
> “Just a short walk,” Victor says, cocking his head. “The beach is incredibly calm here.”
> 
> “They say it’s the most beautiful place in Hassetsu,” Yuuri tells him, smiling a little.
> 
> “Hmmm,” Victor ponders on that. “I don’t think I’m a good judge of that, though.” 
> 
> “Why?”
> 
> His lips curl upwards, “I’ve always been to the beach with you, Yuuri. Hardly lets me focus on the scenery, does it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i was totally writing a superhero au,guys, i swear, but it got like. way too big. so. i might post that as a separate fic or for my day four thing? idk it's just a bit long and i wanted to have more time to write it. so here you have some character study and my take on why and victor and yuuri work. thanks so much for the feedback on the last chapter!

It doesn’t take Yuuri much to figure out that Victor, the immature man who makes flimsy excuses whenever he’s late, the well-intentioned coach who doesn’t hesitate to extend a hand at his catastrophic falls, who wipes tears of frustration from his cheeks and holds him close, murmuring his name softly “ _ Yuuri, Yuuri _ .”, is nothing like he’d imagined.

 

As a male teenager starting to get into competitive figure skating in his time, Victor Nikiforov was the highest of dream. He was beautiful, elegant, technically perfect, young and charismatic. Victor was the kind of person who made everyone regret not trying to be exactly like him, the genius who excelled and smashed old records as if they were flimsy sheets of paper to be thrown aside the minute he set his blades on the ice. 

 

Yuuri, a self-recognized Victor fanboy, thought the guy was the be-all to figure skating, and the most amazing person alive  _ or _ dead . He tracked down all of the posters with Victor’s face on them, he bought the magazines with articles that even  _ mentioned _ him, he copied his routines step by step, until he could follow them half-asleep, he got as far as getting the closest thing to his  _ dog _ , for Christ’s sake. Taking all that embarrassing obsession into account, Yuuri spent a lot of his time wondering what Victor would be like in real life.

 

Would he be as charming as in the interviews? Would he compliment Yuuri’s skating? Would he compliment  _ Yuuri _ ? Did he  _ really _ have all his outfits made by famous designers? Did he like joking around, or was he more of the serious type? What was his favourite food? How many times a day did he walk his dog? Had he ever tried an onsen? 

 

Yuuri had his own image of Victor, cradled closely to his heart, a reality he’d constructed slowly but surely, one he was hoping to have confirmed the first time they skated the same ice together. Yuuri’s Victor was his motivation, his daydream, his fantasy.

 

And well. Besides the fact that his version of Victor praised his skating and wanted to teach him, too (something he’s still not sure is him just having a terribly cruel realistic dream), the real one and him could not be further apart.

 

Victor, in all his complexity, is rude and immature. He’s demanding and manipulative at times, especially regarding figure skating. For all his chattering, it’s almost impossible to have a profound conversation with him about something not related to the sport. He talks about Russia with the endless passion of a man who loves his country, has started to make up an endless list of places he wants Yuuri and the Katsuki’s to visit, but refuses categorically to mention his family or past. Victor is so unbelievably dedicated that he spends all his available time either skating or fluttering around the place, flighty, like he needs to stay in motion.

 

Sometimes, Yuuri can see Victor hugging Makkacchin close to his chest, his fingers tightening in his fur, and sees the taut line of his body. He hears him call out the poodle’s name with unbridled affection, notices the way his voice borders on panic if the dog doesn’t immediately bark back when called. He wonders,  _ is Makkacchin your only friend? _

 

There’s an entire universe of Victor to explore, leagues and leagues of memories and experiences that make him who he is, and Yuuri doesn’t know any of them. He’s just barely getting started, packing his bags and embarking on the life-changing journey that constitutes having Victor Nikiforov suddenly being thrown into his life, smiling his way into Yuuri’s heart. 

 

…

 

They don’t start dating until a few good months after Victor starts being his coach.

 

To be honest, Yuuri considers it more of a gradual process than anything else. Victor invites him to dinner (“Come on, Yuuri, I really want to try this place! Please, for  _ me _ ?” “How can you  _ not _ had this before? We must remedy this!” “I already have a reservation, don’t bother trying to argue.”) and drags him around Hassetsu laughing good-naturedly. Once some time has passed, they both start getting to the rink just a little bit earlier than they have to, open it up themselves, and sit down together in the changing room, sharing information, asking about each other. Victor pushes more, asks for more, but he never truly breaches Yuuri’s comfort zone. 

 

It’s good, in a way, that Victor continues to insist, because Yuuri would have never been brave enough to hint at anything with  _ Victor Nikiforov _ . He may know him now, may appreciate him for his own person instead of for the dream, but he’s still someone clothed in fame and washed down with the recipe for success, while Yuuri struggles not to fall into the temptation of giving up his sorry career every single day of his life. 

 

“Hey, Yuuri,” Victor nudges his shoulder one day, while they’re sitting. “Want go to the beach later?”

 

“Yeah.”  _ Later _ could mean the next second; it could mean two years from now. When Victor looks at him like that, focused and quiet, as if the world stops turning for a moment, Yuuri would agree to cutting off his own tongue. “What did you have in mind?”

 

“Just a short walk,” Victor says, cocking his head. “The beach is incredibly calm here.”

 

“They say it’s the most beautiful place in Hassetsu,” Yuuri tells him, smiling a little.

 

“Hmmm,” Victor ponders on that. “I don’t think I’m a good judge of that, though.” 

 

“Why?”

 

His lips curl upwards, “I’ve always been to the beach with you, Yuuri. Hardly lets me focus on the scenery, does it?”

 

They kiss for the first time on that beach; the beach where Yuuri learned to swim, hesitant and trembling; the beach which he’s observed every day from the top of the mountains; the beach he’s made sand castles on, only for them to fall apart the minute his parents turned his heads, courtesy of his sister’s sabotage. They kiss on a beach Yuuri knows like the back of his hand, and it feels more like home than ever before.

 

“ _ So?” _

 

_ “So what?” _

 

_ “ _ Was _ it the most beautiful place in all of Hassetsu?” _

 

_ “Are you fishing for compliments, Yuuri Katsuki? My, my _ .”

 

…

 

Victor opens up, slowly.

 

It speeds up when they start being together, rather than just having a coach and student relationship, like he starts to feel he’s allowed to share his emotions and insecurities with his boyfriend, at least. And it doesn’t only happen with Yuuri, either.

 

“Vicchan, did you like what I made for you yesterday?” his mom asks, smiling softly, as she leans against the doorframe.

 

“It was delicious,” Victor responds in his stumbling Japanese. He’s getting better at it, gradually, by asking a lot, downloading language applications on every electronic device he can find, and watching subtitled anime, which he’s strangely fond of. Lately, though, he’s been asking Yuuri about which are the words he gasps out when he comes, which are the words to demand him to kiss him, and looking up silly old love poems from early Japanese history. Just the thought of it is enough to make Yuuri blush brightly enough that he has to turn away, afraid his mother will notice.

 

“Oh, I’m so glad,” she gushes, clapping her hands together. “Yuuri’s father and I are going to a show later, would you like to join us?”

 

“Is it another interpretation of ‘Lady of the lake’?” Yuuri asks without facing her, already aware of his parents’ tastes. “We’ve already been to see it ten times, mom.”

 

“Well, you don’t have to come if you want to,” she rolls her eyes. 

 

“I’d love to go,” Victor cuts in hurriedly, as if he’s afraid she’ll retract the offer if he isn’t quick enough. He bites his lip. “I would really enjoy seeing a show with you both.”

 

Yuuri smiles. Didn’t stutter even once.

 

“You and your sister could learn a lot from Vicchan, you know,” his father calls out from the living room. “A polite boy who isn’t afraid to be wild  _ and _ who spends time with us old geezers.”

 

“Dad! I helped you with the onsen for the entire weekend!”

 

“I’m just saying,  _ Victor _ helps every day,” he says airily.

 

Timidly, Victor’s lips form a shaky smile, full of uncertainty and excitement, coexisting peacefully.

 

“I hope they weren’t too much,” Yuuri murmurs into Victor’s pajama shirt when he slides into bed that night, sighing softly. “I can never stay awake through that show, but they make sure to talk during the whole thing, too.”

 

“They were great, Yuuri,” Victor admits, and wraps his arms around him, too tightly to be just their usual comfortable embrace. “They were really, really great.”

 

“...Do you miss your parents, Victor?” He’s been waiting a long time to ask.

 

His grip on Yuuri tightens even more. “Sometimes. They…” he can feel him swallow, his throat bobbing. Victor is always warm in bed, always nice to the touch. Reassuring, strong, comforting. Yuuri’s never slept as well as he as with Victor touching him, even if it was just pressing their backs together. It makes him want to be that for Victor, too. 

 

He squeezes Victor’s hand.

 

“They weren’t around much,” he finishes, throat raw. His English loses its whimsicality and silliness when he’s like this, sharpened by the accent that slips in. “I don’t think they’ve noticed I’m gone, actually.”

 

Yuuri presses a featherlight kiss to Victor’s collarbone, careful. He doesn’t ask,  _ Do you want them to notice? _ Because it’s impossible to miss that Victor Nikiforov’s been starved for real affection for years, now, being funny and harsh while taking comfort in Makkacchin and skating. He doesn’t ask,  _ Are my parents enough? _ He definitely doesn’t ask,  _ Am I enough? _

 

“I’m sorry, Vitya,” he whispers, and switches so he can wrap his arms around Victor, instead of the other way around. “Rest, okay?”

 

He’ll call Yakov and Yuri tomorrow, give him a taste of home. Perhaps he’ll even phone Chris, to remind him he  _ does _ have people who care for him. For now, though, he holds Victor, and feels him sink into sleep.

 

…

 

Yuuri learns about who Victor is almost in the way a flower blooms, getting to see the beauty unfurl, getting glimpses of what the future could bring.

 

They’re not a couple who needs to talk about everything, not like Chris and his boyfriend are (Chris has fled to Japan on more than one occasion to seek solace while they’re fighting, and paces up and down arguing loudly into the phone during his stay. Yuuri and Victor are familiar with their drawn-out conversations by now.), which doesn’t mean they don’t talk  _ at all _ . 

 

It’s just easier for them to communicate through small gestures, through affectionate touches, through books left half open on the kitchen table. Ever since they’ve moved in into their new place, the language they use can be translated into their living space. Yuuri always makes a mess out of everything when his anxiety gets the best of him, has a hard time cleaning or making sure that everything is in its place. Victor knows quite well that when he comes into the house and it looks like it’s been raided, then he needs to go and ask Yuuri if he’s okay, if he wants anything. Remind him that he’s not alone, even if he’s struggling.

 

Victor’s way of telling him things is subtler, but no less important. He’ll reorganize every piece of furniture they own, change things as much as he can, switch the drawers, take out his clothes and put them back in their place… Yuuri just leaves him alone then, waits for Victor to tell him it’s okay to approach. 

 

Victor isn’t a superstar. Victor has bad days. Victor gets angry. Yuuri loves him anyway.

 

“Hey, Yuuri,” Victor mumbles. They’re sitting down on opposite ends the couch while having dinner, their blanket half-raised, covering their entwined legs that meet in the middle. Yuuri has been trying to keep Makkacchin from jumping on the sofa and eat their pork for the last ten minutes. “Kiss me.”

 

Yuuri flushes. Somehow, he still gets surprised by how freely Victor demands affection, just saying what he wants outright. He swallows, “You have sauce all over your mouth, though.”

 

“You’ve kissed me with worse things in my mouth,” Victor smirks, and laughs when it makes Yuuri’s blush deepen. “Aw, you’re adorable.”

 

“Shut up,” Yuuri grumbles, averting his eyes. Carefully, he sets his bowl on the coffee table, warning Makkacchin not to eat it with a stern look, and crawls across the couch to where Victor is. 

 

His fiancé’s eyes light up with mirth. 

 

“You really don’t deserve this,” Yuuri tells him, huffing a little. He’s sitting cross-legged on Victor’s lap, his cheeks a light pink. Victor, too,  leaves the bowl on the table, accidentally shaking Yuuri a little. Quickly, he sets his hand on his waist to help him steady himself, curling his fingers and holding on tight.

 

“I don’t deserve you,” Victor says instead, and closes his eyes.

 

“Don’t you dare sweet talk me now,” Yuuri sighs, but leans in.

 

The gentle, playful lick of Victor’s tongue sliding into his mouth apologizes for him. Yuuri lets himself go, knotting his hands together behind Victor’s neck, and rests his weight on his chest, gasping softly. 

 

Sometimes, words are unnecessary.

 

“I love you,” Victor whispers.

 

“I love you too.”

 

But not always.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm a mess sorry i know this sucks. validate me pls


	4. i'm katsudone with my life tbh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’d never seen a food-related superpower before, you know.”
> 
> Victor caught Yuuri conjuring peas out of thin air when he walked into the kitchen by accident looking for the rest rooms. When Yuuri noticed him in the room, he screamed and started making peas at an alarming rate, causing Victor to slip and fall. It wasn’t the most glamorous first meeting.
> 
> Yuuri flushes under the praise, fingers twitching, “It’s not that cool. I can’t really help anyone like you do.” He swallows, looking at Victor from between his eyelashes, feeling his cheeks heating up, “What you do is amazing.”
> 
> Victor glows, crossing his legs and leaning in closer to him, “Well, I am pretty fantastic, am I not?”
> 
> “Yeah,” he mumbles quietly, not meeting his eyes. “You are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello yes i am a tired it's 1 am pls enjoy the trash

If there is one thing that Yuuri Katsuki never imagined when he was a teenager, it was having Victor Nikiforov - the best superhero in the world, according to  _ Supersize, the latest super new network! _ \-  sitting on a stool watching him prepare daifuku mochi.

 

“This isn’t really that interesting,” he tries, squirming under Victor’s deep, amazing,  _ breathtaking _ blue eyes. He’s been there for a few hours now, and it’s proving just how hard it is to keep up a normal conversation between adults when one of them has the hugest, most embarrassing crush on the other. “You don’t have to watch.”

 

“I think it’s absolutely fascinating,” Victor breathes, moving the stool closer to Yuuri and resting his chin on his hands, eyes shining. He looks different, out of his superhero outfit, without the frill and the elegant shades of blue and white that match his colouring perfectly. It’s almost startling, seeing Victor Nikiforov wearing regular clothes, with an apron loosely hanging over his neck (“Just in case, Yuuri! Let me try them, yes?”), but he still manages to have  _ presence _ . “I’d never seen a food-related superpower before, you know.”

 

Victor caught Yuuri conjuring peas out of thin air when he walked into the kitchen by accident looking for the rest rooms. When Yuuri noticed him in the room, he screamed and started making peas at an alarming rate, causing Victor to slip and fall. It wasn’t the most glamorous first meeting.

 

Yuuri flushes under the praise, fingers twitching, “It’s not that cool. I can’t really help anyone like you do.” He swallows, looking at Victor from between his eyelashes, feeling his cheeks heating up, “What you do is amazing.”

 

Victor glows, crossing his legs and leaning in closer to him, “Well, I am pretty fantastic, am I not?”

 

The sad thing is that it doesn’t even feel like Victor’s bragging, not really. 

 

Ever since Yuuri first hear of the Ice King, back in the years where his biggest problem was avoiding making katsudon appear out of thin air whenever he got nervous, Victor’s been climbing through the ranks of best superhero in the world, steadily surpassing old favourites like the  _ Plushenko Machine _ . He’s one of the superheroes who reveals his real identity to the public, more than happy to entertain interviewers or receive fanmail at his own house. Victor’s fame started when he made his debut at fourteen by managing to save twenty people being held hostage at a bank, freezing the floor and the robbers’ guns. 

 

There’s this one video of Victor trailing out of the bank, taken by some TV camera, that shows the exact moment in which Victor freezes the door and shatters the ice shards open, just before marching out of the place holding a little girl in his arms, protecting her from the ice with his cape. The footage went viral, showing up on every television in the world, getting millions of views on YouTube in under 24 hours, and established Victor as a A Level superhero right off the bat, receiving offers for alliances and coalitions by the minute. 

 

That video, the way Victor tightened his hold on the little girl, the shape of his reassuring smile on his blue lips, stole Yuuri’s tender heart.

 

“Yeah,” he mumbles, not meeting his eyes. “You are.”

 

Victor tuts, “I just don’t see why you won’t let me tell people about your ability, Yuuri. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

 

“Oh,” Yuuri bites his lower lip, picking up the rest of the daifuku mochi mixture and dropping it in a bowl. “Well, it’s just a tiny bit embarrassing. I mean, I make food appear, it’s not really useful for anything else. I guess I’m more comfortable trying to pretend I’m normal.”

 

He freezes, turning back to look at Victor, his eyes widen, “N-not that I think you’re not normal! I mean, I think you’re extraordinary! Not normal in a good way! A really,  _ really _ good way!”

 

Victor smirks, his eyes softening as he tilts his head in acknowledgement, “That’s good to hear.”

 

“Anyway,” he looks away, cheeks flushed. “I just didn’t want to make a big deal out of it when I was a kid, what with superheroes running around.” He sighs. “And now it’s been too long so it’d be a big deal anyway.”

 

Victor raises his hands up in surrender, “Okay, okay. Then let me just enjoy your cooking in exchange for keeping your shameful secret, alright?”

 

Yuuri smiles at him, his stomach fluttering with butterflies, “Well, if you want to.”

 

…

 

“I literally owe you my entire life,” Yuuri shivers, wrapping his coat around himself tightly. “Thank you  _ so _ much.”

 

Victor smiles at him, delighted, wearing a short sleeved t-shirt and jeans, despite the fact that the kitchen is  _ covered _ with snow. “Oh, it’s alright.” He waves it off, stepping closer to him so that they’re both leaning against the kitchen counter, and murmurs. “I’d do anything you’d ask me to, Yuuri.”

 

“Okie-dokie,” Yuuri mumbles, flushing.

 

It’s just Yuuri’s luck that his refrigerator and freezer had to break down during Festival Week, the time of the year in which hundreds of tourists visit the city, and all the food establishments get completely full. In the past they’ve always used the festival as an opportunity to make extra money, either or making repairs on the restaurant or giving themselves a treat. 

 

So he almost had a heart attack when he walked in at 7 am, ready to get stuff going and prepare some cakes for the dessert menu, and he noticed the cooling appliances weren’t working. Yuuri briefly considered stocking up on as many mini-fridges as possible (a tactic learnt from his uni days when Phichit would gather enough alcohol to knock out ten purebred horses), but he doesn’t have space to put all his food there. 

 

That was when a light lit up inside his head - well, when Yuuri called Phichit crying because they were going to lose a huge amount of money, and his friend told him without playing around that he “call the only ice-making superhero you know, oh my god, Yuuri!”

 

He has to admit it’s a good plan. Victor picked up immediately (he’d given Yuuri his number a few days ago, saying that he always did it to civilians), asking if Yuuri was okay, and rushed to the restaurant after hearing Yuuri cry again (he’s a crier, okay?) while choking out that he needed Victor’s help. 

 

“Seriously, I’m really grateful,” Yuuri swears, biting his lower lip. He looks down at his feet. “I was really worried we’d have to close down the kitchen.”

 

“Yeah, I got the feeling,” Victor teases, bumping their shoulders together.

 

He flushes, hoping that Victor blames it on the cold. “Um. It’s just - it’s Festival Week, you know?”

 

“I didn’t, actually,” Victor says. “Until you told me about it ten different times while I was making it snow.”

 

It was totally awesome to watch. Victor’s eyes actually go blue  _ all the way _ , like in the movies, and it just - it just fucking  _ snows,  _ out of nowhere. It was epic. Yuuri might have taken a selfie, for Phichit’s sake.

 

“Sorry,” he’s digging his own grave here. “I just really care about the restaurant.”

 

“That’s only to be expected,” Victor smiles at him, reassuring. “I think you’ve got a reason to care about it, anyway. It’s a lovely place.”

 

“Thanks,” Yuuri beams at him, touched. If there’s anything that gets to him - and it shames him a little to admit it - it’s people complimenting his restaurant. “Yuuko, Takeshi and me started the  _ Katsudon Palace _ right out of college, so we’ve always kind of considered it our baby. Besides,” he gestures with his hands, rolling his eyes when an apple pops out of nowhere and lands neatly on top of a pile of snow. “I’m a natural.”

 

“Yes, you are,” Victor laughs, before he stops to furrow his brow a little, confused. “Yuuri, are you cold?”

 

“What?” Yuuri looks at him, startled, and stares down at his hands. They’re shaking slightly, his fingers stiff and awkward when he tries to stretch them. “Oh. Yeah, a little.”

 

“That’s no good,” Victor declares stubbornly. He grabs both his hands, pressing them together and covering them with his own to warm them up, smirking up at him as he does so. “Can’t let my favourite chef get a cold now, can I?”

 

Yuuri squeaks, “Um. No?”

 

“After all,” Victor carries on, his smirk sliding into something less teasing and more sincere. “Who’s feed me, then?”

 

“I’m pretty sure the entire population would feed you, Ice King,” he can’t help but tell him, smiling a little. Even if Victor _does_ radiate ‘celebrity’ all around, and he spends more time uploading pictures of his face to social media than the average person, it’s easy to forget that Victor is famous because he _saves_ _lives_. That Victor is a _superhero_ , even when he’s rushing to help cool down Yuuri’s frozen meat.

 

Victor bites his lower lip, his eyes dark, “What if I don’t  _ want _ the entire population, Yuuri?” he murmurs, his voice suddenly much deeper. It sends a shiver down Yuuri’s spine. “What if I just want you?”

 

…

 

Two weeks after he and Victor meet, Christophe Giacometti, AKA  _ Cupid _ , a superhero known for seducing bad guys into prison, reserves a table at the  _ Katsudon Palace _ , which is both unsurprising and terribly suspicious

 

It becomes immediately clear what Chris is up to when Yuuri walks out to say hello to him, after so many time without chatting, and Victor’s right there with him.

 

“Yuuri!” Chris crows in delight, standing up from his chair with a flourish and pulling out a red rose from his pocket. Some people consider that Victor is an attention-seeker, for revealing his real identity to the public. The same people have other words to describe what Chris is. Phichit uses ‘ _ grandiose _ ’. “Yuuri, my love, it’s been too long.”

 

“Yuuri?” Victor blinks, face expressionless. “What is he talking about?”

 

Yuuri takes the rose, knowing perfectly well he’s blushing, “Chris, I thought we agreed to meet up for coffee next week.”

 

“But I wanted to see you,” Chris whispers, moving closer to him and carefully laying a hand on his forearm. “You never call, you never text.”

 

“Yuuri,” Victor repeats, louder this time. “You know Chris?”

 

Yuuri tries to shove Chris away as politely as he can, shaking his head at him in disapproval. “Yeah. Um. We have a class together.”

 

“A very  _ intimate _ class,”Chris adds, winking.

 

“I thought you were done with culinary school,” Victor frowns. “And Chris, you finished college like, ten years ago.”

 

“I resent that, I’m still young.”

 

“It-it’s a special class!” Yuuri hurries, feeling his face heat up even more. “And Chris and our  _ classmates _ were meeting up next week.”

 

“I can’t believe you didn’t want to see me,” Chris pouts, pressing his index finger to his lips and fluttering his eyelashes. “We work  _ so well _ together.”

 

Yuuri buries his face in his hands, “Stop, or I’m calling your boyfriend.”

_ Yuuri - 1. Chris - 0 _

 

The man tsks, “Well played, Katsuki.” He sits back down with a sigh, crossing his legs and leaning back in his chair. “Anyway, yes, Victor, I met Yuuri at my pole-dancing group.”

 

_ Yuuri - 1, Chris - 1 _ .

 

Victor’s face goes bright red all of the sudden, and his movements completely still. “You’re. You’re from Chris’s pole-dancing group. You’re someone he really likes from his pole-dancing group.”

 

His eyes widen. “Oh my god. You’re Flexible Dom.” Immediately after he says it, he slaps a hand over his mouth, staring at Yuuri with something akin to complete befuddlement in his gaze. 

 

Yuuri wants the earth to swallow him whole. He raises his eyebrow at Chris, instead, “Really? Flexible Dom?”

 

He shrugs, “I have a way with words.”

 

“W-well,” Victor cuts in, face still burning. “Yuuri and I have our own activities, too. He teaches me to cook in his kitchen!”

 

“I do?”

 

Chris gasps, turning to look at him, “You let him into your  _ kitchen _ ? How  _ scandalous _ ! You wouldn’t let me anywhere  _ near _ your kitchen!”

 

“The last time I was holding food around you, you squeezed my ass and made me drop all the parfaits!”

 

_ Yuuri - 2, Chris - 1. _

 

Chris winks, “Touché.”

 

…

  
  


Almost as if he was waiting for Chris to make the first move, Yuri Plisetsky, the Siberian Tiger, shows up at the restaurant a few days later.

 

It’s a very different experience, to be honest. Victor came to the restaurant calmly, wearing his casual clothes. He asked to compliment the chef, he was nice to the waiters and even took photos with the two or three fans who came up to see him. 

 

Yuri, on the other hand, slams the door open, steps into the restaurant clad in his tiger-patterned bodysuit, and growls, “SHOW ME YUURI KATSUKI, OR FACE  _ CERTAIN DEATH _ !!”

 

It would be a lot more intimidating if he didn’t cough up two hairballs immediately after it; although, to his credit, the door thing was a nice dramatic touch.

 

“Why are superheroes coming to the restaurant?” Takeshi mutters under his breath. “Be nice to superheroes, they said. They’ll save you when you need it, they said. Well, I don’t see any saving!”

 

Yuuko pats his arm in comfort.

 

Yuri Plisetsky is something between a young superhero and a pissed off kitten. He hasn’t done any big projects by himself yet, working under Victor’s agent, Yakov Feltsman, but he’s a fervent supporter of animal rights. All his animal prints are fakes, of course, and his main activities are beating animal abusers up, raising money for animal shelters by growling threateningly at rich people on the street and very much going to Otabek Altin’s figure skating events during the weekends.

 

Victor likes to talk about Yuri, Yuuri’s discovered after spending so much time with him, the same way parents talk about their children. He always brings newspaper articles which mention him to show to Yuuri the day after, excitedly pointing at pictures or underlining his name, gushing about how  _ famous _ he’ll be and how  _ glorious _ his career is. 

 

Sometimes Victor just enjoys sharing pictures of Yuri with him, quick selfies or snapshots taken while the teenager isn’t looking - Yuri shoving doritos into his mouth, Yuri with his cats on his bed, Otabek and Yuri curled up on the sofa after they fell asleep playing video games - and Yuuri simply sits there, following what Victor says and wishing he’d never stop talking about the people he loves, if the way he brightens up is so beautiful.

 

It’s a bit nerve-wracking then, to go and talk to Yuri, when he considers him as good as Victor’s family. The fact that Yuri basically implied he wants a duel to the death doesn’t help much.

 

“Hey, Yuri,” Yuuri tries, fidgeting as he stands in front of him. After coughing up the hair balls, Yuri glared at everyone in the restaurant and marched to the corner of the dining hall, turning off the lamps so it looked shadowy and dark. It’s pretty emo. “Did you want to talk to me?”

 

Yuri’s eyes narrow as he focuses on him, “Why does Victor come here, you mediocre slug?”

 

Yuuri swallows, “Um,  I’ve heard the food is quite good.”

 

The teenager hisses, “Do not dare lie to me, filthy mortal.”

 

This is going great. 

 

In the end, Yuuri caves and invites him to have as many free orders of katsudon as he wants (honestly, he’s getting worked up enough that he’s going to start making them rain) while he retreats to the kitchen in fear.

 

…

 

In the following two days, Takeshi catches Yuri Plisetsky trying to steal katsudon from their kitchens five times.

 

When he calls Victor, nervous and afraid the teenager hates him, Victor just laughs and tells him, “He’s just showing his affection, that way. He doesn’t steal just  _ anybody’s _ food, you know. _ ” _

 

Superheroes, man.

 

…

 

“I don’t think this is going to work,” Yuuri mumbles, nervous.

 

“No, no, I told Chris you gave me cooking lessons,” Victor insists stubbornly, tying his apron and putting his hair up. “And I am about to make that come true.”

 

“We could start with something simpler, like eggs,” he tries. “Not, you know, making ice cream with your superpowers.”

 

Victor tsks, “Yuuri, you’ve got to dream big!”

 

Yuuri laughs a little, scratching the back of his neck self-consciously, “Okay, I guess.”

 

“And it’s not fair that only  _ you _ get to use your superpowers for making tasty stuff,” Victor adds, as if he’s terribly offended by the thought that Yuuri would ever imply otherwise. 

 

He smiles, timid, “Okay. I’ve just,” he lets out another laugh, more relaxed. “I’ve never cooked with someone who had superpowers, too. It’s weird.” He shrugs, “I’m probably doing it wrong, anyway. It’s not like I have any real talent.”

 

He doesn’t think much about what he says, already turning back to glance at his (new) refrigerator, only for Victor to take his hand suddenly, startling him into looking up at him, and say, firmly, “Yuuri, your superpowers are your own.” 

 

Yuuri blinks, confused, “What?”

 

Victor bites his lip, as if he can’t put what he means into words. “I think it’s a shame that you hide them and continuously put yourself down for having them.” His grip on Yuuri’s hand tightens. “Isn’t it wonderful that you can feed people? That your family will never starve? That you brighten up people’s days with food?”

 

He swallows, “I don’t… I don’t know, I never thought about it like that.”

 

“Yes, well,” Victor seems embarrassed, but he doesn’t let go of Yuuri’s hand. “I think it’s incredible. And I want to try doing it, too.”

 

Yuuri smiles at that, heart fluttering in his chest, and nods shyly.

 

Of course, it ends up in disaster and enough chilli-flavoured ice cream to fill ten freezers the same size as Yuuri’s, their clothes soaked and Victor shouting about “WHY IS THERE NO CONTROL IN FOOD? WHY IS FOOD EVIL, YUURI?”, but well. Not everyone can make food with superpowers, after all.

 

…

 

“I wanted to show you something,” Yuuri bursts out.

 

Victor blinks at him. It’s been about a month since they first met each other, and they’ve mostly hung out at the restaurant, with the exception of the few times Yuuri’s begged him to take him to anywhere  _ but _ the restaurant, in order to escape his work, some way or another. He’s got a few assistants, but no one can work in the kitchen because he’s afraid they’ll find out about his powers, and it gets exhausting. 

 

This time, Yuuri texted Victor to meet him at a park a few blocks away from the restaurant.

 

“You wanted to show me something?” Victor cocks his head to the side, curious. He’s smiling, eyes focused on him. 

 

“Yes,” Yuuri is already regretting this. “Just, er, follow me.”

They arrive to the centre after walking for a few minutes. It’s a small building, only two storeys tall in the urban jungle surrounding it, old enough to be out of place in the city. Yuuri knows perfectly well they painted it recently, but the cream-coloured walls are already showing signs of decay, rain and dirt clinging persistently. 

 

Yuuri takes a deep breath, tugs at Victor’s sleeve, startling him, and knocks on the door.

 

“Yuuri!” Minami beams at him from the other side, holding the door open with his foot and throwing himself at him, wrapping his arms around Yuuri. It temporarily cuts off his air supply, but he’s gotten used to that, after the last few years. “Yuuri, you’re here!”

 

“I come every Saturday,” Yuuri reminds him, a rueful smile. He ruffles his hair a little, just to see him groan and swat at him. “You don’t have to keep coming at my hours, you know.”

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” the teenager grins. “Anyway, come in whenever you want, the kitchen is ready.” He salutes, winking, and walks down to where the dining room is.

 

“Yuuri?” Victor asks, confused. “Are you bringing me to meet this boy?” His eyes widen, “Are you his sugar daddy?”

 

“Oh my  _ god _ , Victor -”

 

“This could be very bad, Yuuri!”

 

“I’m not Minami’s sugar daddy!” he buries his face in his hands. “I will  _ never _ be Minami’s sugar daddy.”

 

“Sadly!” comes a voice from the dining room.

 

“Get back to work,” Yuuri scolds him, eyebrows twitching. He turns back to Victor, feeling somewhere between hysterical and amused. “This is a homeless shelter.”

 

“Oh,” Victor’s mouth opens in a small ‘o’, even while his brows remain furrowed. “You - volunteer here?”

 

“I’m a food machine,” Yuuri explains, smiling self-deprecatingly. “I come here once a week and give as much food as possible. Minami’s just another volunteer. He sees me around.” He fidgets, “I was just wondering if you wouldn’t mind - ”

 

Victor’s not saying anything. Victor’s just standing there, staring at him with big, blue eyes, his face completely expressionless. Yuuri bites his lower lip, anxious. Did he come off as an ass? What did he say? Oh shit, where did he fuck up?

 

“I-it’s fine if you want to leave,” Yuuri starts, babbling, looking anywhere but at Victor. “I know volunteering is not for everyone, and I should have asked you, but I was nervous, and I didn’t know if  - I mean, I guessed but - it’s fine, this was a stupid idea -”

 

“Hey, Yuuri,” Victor interrupts him, smirking. He grabs onto Yuuri’s wrists to keep him from leaving, although his grip is gentle enough that he could shake it off without trouble. He doesn’t. “Remember how I said I was the superhero?”

 

“Um, yeah?” Where’s he going with this?   
  


“I was clearly wrong,” Victor declares. “Because you, Yuuri Katsuki, are a fucking awesome human being, no matter how much you deny it. Stop selling yourself and your power short, okay?” 

 

Yuuri nods, almost as if on command. “Okay,” he whispers.

 

“Now,” Victor releases him, smiling sheepishly. He rubs the back of his neck, determined, “Let’s go feed the homeless. I’m making ice cream.”

 

“ _ No, you aren’t _ .”

 

…

 

“Oh my god, he asked you out on a  _ date _ !” Phichit screams from his phone screen, almost bursting Yuuri’s ear drums.

 

“Shut  _ up _ , Phichit,” he scolds him, adjusting his headphones and wincing. “It’s not a date, he just wanted to go out to eat.”

 

“Yuuri,” Phichit raises an eyebrow at him, deadpan. “You work at a restaurant. If he wanted to eat with you, he could just  _ hang out at your restaurant _ , like he always does. Uh, uh,” he shakes his head, threading his fingers together. “What he wants is romantic alone time with  _ you _ , Yuuri.”

 

He flushes, “That is  _ not _ true!”

 

“Keep lying to yourself, Katsuki, keep lying to yourself.”

 

…

 

When regular people are usually late to dat-  _ meeting with their friends _ , they probably lost the bus or spent too much time getting ready before leaving.

 

When Victor Nikiforov is late, though, he shows up in front of the Italian restaurant they are meeting at wearing his superhero costume, breathing hard, and chokes out, “S-sorry I’m late, had to deal with some kidnappers.”

 

Yuuri stares at him, jaw touching the floor. 

 

Victor takes a deep, long breath, his cape fluttering in the evening wind. There’s some snow on his shoulder, slowly melting in front of his eyes. His hair, for the first time since Yuuri’s met him, is messy and slightly wet from the ice. He looks at Yuuri again, and beams, “Anyway, we can go on with our date now.”

 

“D-date?” Yuuri stutters out, heartbeat fast.

 

“OH MY GOD!” A teenage girl waiting in line for the restaurant screams, grabbing her friend’s arm, “OH MY GOD, IT’S THE ICE KING!”

 

It takes exactly four minutes and twenty-seven seconds before an avalanche of people of all ages descends upon them, armed with cameras and selfie sticks, yelling out Victor’s superhero name and asking who Yuuri even is. They gather in a mob, surrounding both of them, pushing and pulling at Victor; some teenagers are even crying. Their faces mash together as they make their way through to get to Victor, recklessly punching and slapping others away. It feels like something out of a horror movie, Yuuri thinks, slightly numb.

 

Victor doesn’t wait before taking hold of Yuuri and wrapping his arms around him, immediately protecting him from the crowd, hiding him with his cape. Oddly, they’re almost hugging each other, with their chests pressed together. Victor’s cold. 

 

Yuuri closes his eyes and leans against him, anyway.

 

Both of them escape the stampede of obsessed fans after some minutes maneuvering, running quite a lot and using Victor’s ice to freeze a middle aged man’s tennis shoes. It just so happens that they’re close to Victor’s flat (“My  _ ice cave _ !” he tells him excitedly, clapping his hands and shooting tiny snowflakes out from his fingers, eyes burning blue.), so they walk there. Turns out being a superhero, although enough to pay the bills, isn’t enough to get Victor a round-the-clock limousine.

 

“It would be too much for me, even so,” Victor dismisses it when Yuuri mentions it, teasing. “I could just surf on ice I create, if I wished to, which is much cooler.” He giggles, hand going up to cover his mouth, “Get it?  _ Cooler _ ?”

 

“You have many talents,” Yuuri says, smiling despite himself. “But making puns is not one of them.”

 

Victor lives in a flat that could easily be a small house, at least by the size of it. It’s the attic of a modern building which has not one, but two reception desks in case there’s any problem. There’s a guy wearing all black who simply nods at them as they go through, a finger touching an earpiece. Yuuri mostly tries to stay chill. Victor doesn’t help his attempts, and instead chooses to greet everyone as ‘pal’, ‘frendo’ or ‘security guard number 5!’. 

 

The worst part? Yuuri kind of finds it adorable instead of annoying, which is more than slightly worrying.

 

…

 

Victor has a dog.

 

Victor has a fucking dog.

 

Victor has the cutest fucking dog in the entire fucking universe and oh my god  _ yes _ .

 

“Who’s a good boy?” Yuuri crows, scratching behind Makkacchin’s ears and laughing at his pleased hums. “Who’s a good boy? Oh, yes, you are! Yes, you are!” 

 

The poodle laps at his hand enthusiastically, tail wagging up and down so fast that Yuuri can’t quite make out its shape, just a brown blur. Makkacchin could easily knock Yuuri down, with his size, but he behaves like the cutest overgrown puppy ever, yipping happily and pushing his paw on Yuuri’s chest until he complies and starts petting him over and over again.

 

Victor, from where he’s sitting on the other side of the couch, pouts, “Makka, don’t betray me like this.”

 

Yuuri laughs, fingers threading through the dog’s fur, “He’s not betraying you, shut up!” As if to contradict him, the poodle licks Yuuri’s hand with renewed vigour, not getting discouraged by his yelp.

 

“Oh well,” Victor sighs in defeat, sniffing. “At least he has great taste.” He smirks, “I would also betray for a chance to get a good pat.”

 

_ That _ makes Yuuri blush, his throat closing up, “Um, w-what, eh.” He bites his lip, confident he must be way too obvious. But… Victor said ‘date’ before, didn’t he? Yuuri is like...99% sure he did. And he’s already been introduced to the guy’s pseudo-son. He swallows, “You don’t have to ‘betray’ anyone or anything.” He stares at his lap, where Makkacchin’s curling up into a ball. “You just have to ask.”

 

There’s silence, for a few moments. Yuuri feels like his whole body is burning, like his skin is bothering him. He can hear his own heartbeat.

 

“...Oh,” Victor mumbles, after some time, his voice small but hopeful. “I… can?”

 

“Yeah,” Yuuri mumbles back, fidgeting with his hands. Makkacchin licks his fingers reassuringly. “Yeah, you can just ask.”

 

Victor takes a deep breath, “Okay,” he says, high-pitched. “Okay, I’m throwing the dog out of the living room, you’re washing your hands, and then we’re coming back to the couch.”

 

“Yeah?” Yuuri feels like beaming, right about now. “And what are we doing on the couch?”

 

Victor flushes, hissing, “Chris has corrupted you.”

 

They sit together, in the end, sharing the same blanket. Victor’s leaning against the armrest, and Yuuri puts his legs under him and rests his weight on his chest, letting out a soft breath. It’s nice, Yuuri thinks, biting his lip to keep himself from smiling, to just  _ be _ there, together, even without the fancy dinners or the superhero costumes. Not letting himself overthink it, he links their fingers together, marvelling at how smooth Victor’s hands are, how pale he is. 

 

Victor murmurs, lips brushing his hair, “What are you doing?”

 

“Wondering how much more time it’ll take for you to kiss me,” Yuuri answers, and then there’s Victor’s mouth on his.

 

His eyes flutter shut at the same time as his mouth parts, letting Victor’s tongue in without resisting in the slightest, throwing his arm over Victor’s neck and burying his fingers in his hair, enjoying the way it caresses his skin. Victor’s holding him tight, featherlight touches on his back, sliding up and down, and pressing him against him, as if to crush the distance between them. Yuuri complies eagerly, scooting over a little so that there’s no air separating him, and stops kissing Victor for a second to lick his neck, feeling a thrill run through him when it makes Victor let out an audible whimper, his frame shaking, “ _ Yuuri _ .”

 

Yuuri’s about to keep kissing, swallowing the sound with his mouth, when he notices that, well, it’s slightly chilly. He’s shivering, faint tremors coursing his body, and his skin is breaking out in goosebumps. Confused, he opens his eyes, panting.

 

Immediately, he snorts, “I can’t believe it.”

 

Victor’s made it snow.

 

There’s a tiny cloud over them, dark and heavy, just floating a few centimeters away from their heads, which is gently letting snow fall over them, a brisk air current hitting it every few seconds. The back of the couch is already completely white. 

 

“I d-didn’t mean to!” Victor whines, hands moving to grasp Yuuri’s shoulder. “We can just, uh, we can just keep going!”

 

“That would be a little complicated,” amused, Yuuri points to the coffee table, where there’s five servings of katsudon waiting to be eaten, cheeks flushed. “You’re not the only one who got… worked up.”

 

“Oh,” Victor is blushing now, too, although his pout has curled into a smirk at realizing that Yuuri is just as affected as he is. His gaze sets on Yuuri, and his expression softens into a fond grin, his fingers touching a strand of hair that’s fallen on top of his eyes. “Come on, let’s get you warm.”

The little cloud follows them around for some time before Victor can will it away. They get more blankets, building the most intricate blanket fort on the couch that Yuuri’s seen since he and Mari were kids playing in the living room together. Together, they cozy up, curling around each other. Victor’s arm is around his waist, securing him so he won’t fall off the couch, and his hair tickles Yuuri’s back when he moves. Makkacchin’s been allowed to come in again, now that his innocent eyes are safe from any indecent activities, and he jumps to lay down next to the them, humming comfortably.

 

It’s simple. It’s ordinary. It’s perfect.

 

…

 

Sometimes Victor gets home late, battered and beaten, and spends the whole night cranky, refusing to speak to Yuuri.

 

Other times he gets home and he’s crying, sobbing, begging for Yuuri to hold him. That usually means he didn’t manage to save someone. Yuuri wraps his arms around him and doesn’t let him go until he stops shaking.

 

Most of the time, Victor just loves him. He makes all the ice cubes in their house, and they never need air conditioning in the summer, to which Yuuri pays him back by working on how to make nachos appear for three whole weeks. He’s there when Yuuri tells his friends about the fact that he can make food like,  _ appear _ . He’s there when Yuuri, Yuuko and Takeshi decide to expand the restaurant, hauling boxes with the rest of them. He brings Yuuri to Yuri’s birthday, and introduces him formally to Otabek, known as ‘YURIO’S BFF’ online. 

 

Most of the time, they live, superpowers or not. It’s much lovelier than anything else.    
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is terrible i'm sorry i didn't edit but!!! i didn't skip the day sooooo


	5. in another life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 6: Reincarnation  
> Yuuri doesn’t know how long they stay there, frozen in that moment, how long he thinks about the things he wants to say to Victor, the things he wants to say - not now, but in time, as he grows to know him better. How long he thinks about the fact that he truly wants to know him better, that he’s letting his soul be touched by someone for the first time in years.
> 
> He doesn’t know how long they stay there, a knight and a mage - the unlikeliest of companions - but he does know he never looks away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on my buddy tanaw's[INCREDIBLE ART](http://tanaw.tumblr.com/post/157147899195/day-6-reincarnation-of-course-i-had-to-do-the) , which you should all check out. Please give them some love! They gave me permission to write this. This is the day 6 prompt, the day 5 prompt will be posted later. Sorry for being so late.

They meet in the heat of battle.

 

The mage comes to his aide when he’s surrounded by fire and  deafened by the screeching of evil spirits near the eastern waterfalls. There’s a whirl of blue ice suddenly, stepping between him and his enemy and just a flash of teeth in a quick smile. Their movements match the other’s effortlessly, a predetermined partnership weaving itself as they dodge attacks and try their best offensive, sweat dripping from both their brows. 

 

It’s been twelve years since the fight against the nymphs began; three since it became serious enough that the roads aren’t safe. People say it takes a dozen men to take down one of their basic spirits.

 

They do it between the two of them in under ten minutes.

 

“What’s your name?” the mage asks, lips curling into a smirk. There’s no trace of the spirit left, just the residual faint smell of rotting apples in the air, the most surefire way to know if nymph magic is involved.

 

He looks up from where he’s leaning against one of the rocks that make up the waterfalls. It’s almost impossible to hear him over the wind and the rushing water, but somehow the mage’s voice reaches him without trouble, clear and strong. He has an accent. The knight wipes his sword against the rock on instinct, sliding it smoothly; it doesn’t have any blood - spirits don’t bleed -, but old habits die hard.

 

He meets the mage’s eyes, and smiles, slightly shy. He hasn’t seen a mage that powerful in the last decade, and certainly not one that beautiful and kind enough to help him when he was in need. “I’m Yuuri.”

 

“Yuuri,” the mage repeats, his voice curling over the syllables like he’s licking honey, savouring every drop. He has an accent, his consonants resonate in a way he’s never heard before. The mage smiles back at him, relaxing his smirk, and holds out his gloved hand, “Hey, Yuuri, I like you. I’m Victor.”

 

…

 

“Oh my god,” Yuri groans, burying his face in his hands and pretending to barf. “What the hell is that bastard  _ doing? _ ”

 

“Who are you talking about?” Victor smiles, moving to ruffle his hair and pouting when the teenager hisses at him, recoiling and raising his arms to protect himself. He’s in  _ that _ age. “Did you make a skater cry again?”

 

“Stop bringing that up, I was  _ twelve _ the last time it happened,” Yuri groans, as if it wasn’t simply three years ago, but a distant era in the past. Victor will never get over how teenagers measure time. “And I’m talking about Yuuri Katsuki, otherwise known as a walking fucking disaster.” He grabs Victor’s shoulder, shaking him a little, and points him in the direction of the ballroom, where people are gathering to chat, forming small groups that are divided into which complexity of English one can speak, and if they’ve known the other skaters for some time. Following Yuri’s finger, he looks in its direction.

 

Victor’s eyes go wide, jaw dropping open. His breath hitches.

 

Yuuri Katsuki (he’s heard of the name before, a champion in Japan - great step sequences, last place this final) is  _ dancing _ .

 

He’s dancing, completely free, in front of all the exhausted athletes and expensive patrons. His hair is messier than it was during his programs, a bit longer now, which Victor thinks is a  _ great _ improvement, and it’s far easier to notice that his trousers fit him almost ridiculously well when he’s moving around without the edge of nervousness competition brings.  Every aspect of him seems liberating; his shirt buttons are undone, his eyes shut,  and his  hands are clapping to the music, following the rhythm perfectly. 

 

Honestly, Victor thinks, he looks like he’s having the time of his life. 

 

Before his eyes, Yuuri lets out a short, delighted laugh as the music picks up, sinking to his knees and jumping back up in a sudden movement, receiving a loud  _ whoop _ from where Mila is talking to her friend. Yuuri notices and waves at her, winking and falling to the floor again with expert control.

 

Victor can’t help but think,  _ He’s beautiful _ .

 

On cue, he takes his phone out, giggling like a schoolboy, “I’m taking a video of this.”

 

“To share online?” Yuri raises his eyebrows. “I didn’t think you were that cold, Nikiforov. The guy’s drunk off his ass.”

 

“Um,” Victor doesn’t say,  _ No, I wanted to take a video so I can watch it during my lonely, lonely nights and cry about how pretty this man is _ . “Yeah, I won’t share it. Just - for other stuff.”

 

_ Like crying _ .  _ And debating whether or not to send him a Facebook friend request at 2 am. _

 

The young skater huffs, crossing his arms over his chest, “And anyway, it’s pretty fucking sad.” He turns his nose up, “That dancing’s terrible.”

 

Victor smirks, “It is?” Frankly, he thinks it’s absolutely mesmerizing and  _ yes, zoom in, Victor, good man.  _ He yelps, excited, when Yuuri starts jumping around, humming and smiling. “So you think you could do better?”

 

Yuri frowns at him, scoffing, offended, “I  _ know _ I could do better.”

 

“Hm,” Victor flutters his eyelashes. “Can you prove it?”

 

The skater’s eyes narrow.

 

It takes him ten more seconds of innocently sipping his glass while struggling not to drop his phone (that’s still recording), and then Yuri is marching up to Yuuri Katsuki and break dancing it out.

 

Victor’s laughing like he hasn’t in  _ months _ ; snapping pictures, clapping along when either of them manages a pretty risky move, and politely  _ awwwing _ for Yuri when he loses, rubbing his shoulders in reassurance. Well, what did he expect, going up against such an  _ obvious _ master of the craft? God, Victor needs to fan himself after watching Yuuri Katsuki slide on the floor without a care in the world. The only thing missing is a stripper pole.

 

It’s maybe because he’s thinking about Yuri, wondering if he’ll develop an eternal grudge against Katsuki, or because he looks away from the man for a few seconds to steady himself ( _ don’t embarrass yourself against a king, Victor, this is your only chance to look good! _ ), that he doesn’t notice Yuuri standing in front of him until he turns around to find him waiting there.

 

Their noses are almost touching.

 

Yuuri smells like champagne, and sweat, and he’s panting, blinking rapidly. He has the hugest smile on his face Victor’s ever seen, something so purely joyful that it tugs at his heartstrings. Clumsily but firmly, he bows a little, wobbling as he goes down, and holds out his hand, beaming, “Dance with me, Victor?”

 

He’s got a slight accent, and his speech is slurred from being drunk as fuck, obviously. This is silly, and there’s people here who pay for Victor’s livelihood who probably don’t want to see him dance it out with the person who got last place, no matter how much Victor doesn’t care about that. Plus, he doesn’t know the guy at all, really, he could be a jerk who just dances really nicely.

 

And yet, Victor, feeling like his heart might burst from his chest, doesn’t hesitate before taking his hand, breathing out, “I’d love to.”, and letting himself be led.

 

…

 

Victor and Yuuri get to know each other slowly. 

 

It’s not easy to travel, even if it’s in a small group and the both can pretty confidently take on several enemies at once. The roads are solitary, slivers of grass growing between the stones in the path, marking the fact that they haven’t been stepped on for months. Weak nymphs and their basic spirits are everywhere, showing up at the most inconvenient of times; transforming the mere act of bathing in the river or managing to stop and eat a chore that makes Yuuri’s skin prickle with alarm, his heartbeat quickening. It’s quite understandable that he doesn’t chit chat much.

 

But being with Victor the mage and  _ not _ speaking to him seems something akin to a crime, for him.

 

“You know,” the mage murmurs, hands curling around his hood. The inside of it is covered with pale furs, glowing next to his creamy skin. “You haven’t told me your story, you know?”

 

“You haven’t asked,” Yuuri mumbles, feeling his cheeks heat. He’s been hunting for nymphs for as long as he can remember, training until daybreak to strengthen his muscles, sharpening his reflexes without rest - and he gets tongue tied whenever Victor smiles at him. Sometimes he gets unbearably embarrassed about his crush. “It’s not that interesting, anyway.”

 

“Let me be the judge of that?” Victor asks, voice soft. Around him, small snow crystals glow into existence before melting and falling to the ground. It continues to amazing, this way in which Victor displays his magic openly and unashamedly, despite what some think about mages.

 

Trying to be courageous, Yuuri gives in, “I lived in Hasetsu all my life. I was there when the attack happened.”

 

The mage frowns, his blue eyes colouring with concern, “That’s not… Japan?” At his slight, sombre nod, his expression tightens, alarmed. “But it was destroyed by the nymphs.”

 

“Aye,” Yuuri sighs, fingers grasping his sword’s hilt. “I remember. Lost my horse, my money, and my home. Thankfully, my family survived.”

 

_ I considered Vicchan to be family _ , he doesn’t say, keeping his voice level. He’s learnt to be tough, after fighting with Mari to defend their home, temporal as every place they stayed in was. Now that they’re no longer together, now that Mari defends their parents with her archery and Yuuri has chosen to travel alone, he has to fend for himself. She can’t coddle him anymore.

 

“I’m glad,” Victor says firmly, taking him out of his thoughts. He moves until they’re almost beside one another, stopping and standing in front of him, mouth slightly parted.

 

Yuuri blinks; Victor doesn’t walk like normal people - that would defeat the purpose, what with him being a mage - he  _ glides _ on the floor, making no sound, white light flickering around his feet. They’re closer than they’ve ever been right now, if he doesn’t count their battles, now that they’re motionless in the middle of the deserted road. Victor takes his hand - Victor’s powerful, delicate,  _ warm _ hands take his, so incredibly gently, and he brings them upwards, brushing Yuuri’s skin with pale lips. “I’m glad that you didn’t lose them, Yuuri.”

 

Yuuri doesn’t know how long they stay there, frozen in that moment, how long he thinks about the things he wants to say to Victor, the things he wants to say - not now, but in time, as he grows to know him better. How long he thinks about the fact that he truly  _ wants _ to know him better, that he’s letting his soul be touched by someone for the first time in years.

 

He doesn’t know how long they stay there, a knight and a mage - the unlikeliest of companions - but he does know he never looks away.

 

…

 

“Oooh,” Victor crows, resting his arms on Yuuri’s shoulders  from behind the living room couch at the onsen, smirking at him. “You ever have a lover, Yuuri?”

 

The man blushes bright red, turning his face away as if to hide his obvious embarrassment. He fidgets with his hands, nervous, and murmurs, “Um, not really.”

 

“Never?” Victor can’t really believe it. Does he  _ expect _ him to believe that? The man who boldly asked for a dance at the banquet? The man who shines on the ice like an angel? The man who skated his program without faltering?  “A man like you?”

 

That makes Yuuri snort, just a little, “Yeah, Victor, a man like me. I’m not that much of a catch, you know.”

 

“Nonsense,” Victor dismisses it immediately, patting his head in reassurance and beaming when he sees Yuuri smile at that, just slightly. “You’re a national figure skating champion! You’re young! You’ve got a university degree! You’re extremely nice! And well,” Victor coughs, swallowing.“You’re beautiful.”

 

“I’m not -” Yuuri chokes over his own words, flushing even more deeply and waving his arms in front of him. “I’m not  _ beautiful _ .”

 

Victor narrows his eyes, poking at his side, “Modesty doesn’t suit you, Yuuri.”

 

It’s a lie.  _ Everything _ suits Yuuri. He’s annoyingly wonderful like that. 

 

“Well,” Victor jumps over the couch and sits beside him, fluttering his eyelashes seductively. “I think you’re gorgeous.”

 

“T-thanks,” Yuuri says, ears red. He runs his fingers through his hair, still flustered, before murmuring, in the softest, most tentative tone he’s ever heard him use, “I think you’re pretty, too.”

 

Victor’s dead. He’s deceased. Victor needs - he has to  _ go _ , and bury his face in his pillow. Yuuri’s voice there?  _ Fucking adorable _ . He can’t help but think, giddy,  _ he called me pretty! Yuuri Katsuki thinks I’m pretty! Me! Yuuri! _

 

Out of the corner of his eye, while he’s freaking out, he sees Yuuri relax slightly, and subtly nudge his thigh closer to Victor’s. It’s a bit unsure, a bit uncertain. So Victor nudges back.

 

…

 

“Let me handle this,” Victor tells him, smirking.

 

They need information from a nymph expert in the area who’s rumoured to frequent this tavern. Also a large fan of pretty boys and  _ not _ a huge fan of people asking for information, according to their source (lovely village lad called Eimer). Apparently, he knows where this region’s main spirit, the Dragon, is located. 

 

Yuuri’s grip on his sword tightens. If they can get rid of the spirit, the nymph will be weakened enough to be vulnerable to their attack. Nymphs have to distribute a large amount of their power to their main spirit so as to keep their basic spirits in line and control the region, which means it depletes their energy levels if they go down suddenly.

 

Victor requests surprises him, though. He blinks, “You want to get the information by yourself?”

 

“Oh, Yuuri,” Victor throws his long hair back, letting out a soft sigh and curling his fingers around the cords of his cape, teasing the motion of unlacing. “Trust me, I can make him talk.”

 

His eyebrows shoot upwards, a smile curving his lips, “Oh?”

 

The mage shoots him a dirty look, “I’m a very desirable man, Yuuri Katsuki.”

 

“I don’t doubt it,” he replies, holding his hands up in surrender. “I’m just wondering if it wouldn’t be suspicious for a mage to be sniffing around a nymph expert. You’re not exactly welcome around here.”

 

Victor sniffs, turning his nose up, “Stupid belief that nymphs are mages gone mad. As if that has any basis in reality.”

 

“I know,” Yuuri says, lightly touching his forearm in support. They’ve had a few close runs with angry people calling Victor a nymph and throwing stones at them. It’s almost impossible to hurt them, of course, not with Victor’s shields and Yuuri’s skills in play, but it must hurt to hear someone condemn him like that. Mages are raised in the academy, so they often don’t meet other people until adulthood. He saw Victor’s face, the first time a child insulted him. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do to never see that again.

 

“I can do it, too, you know.”

 

Victor’s eyes soften, “You’re such a sweetheart.”

 

“Maybe I’m just possessive,” Yuuri suggests, feeling brave, and relishes the startled blush on the mage’s cheeks. He coughs lightly, pleased, “I’ll be out of there in ten minutes.”

 

“... Optimistic,” Victor chokes out, still rattled. It isn’t often that Yuuri initiates the flirting, he knows that. But well. It wouldn’t have been nice to watch Victor drape himself over a potentially dangerous informant. Sometimes he really  _ is _ a bit possessive.

 

“Just watch,” Yuuri winks.

 

They both go in, although Victor puts his hood up. His features are too fine to be any common villager, telling the tale of a life spent at the academy instead of in the fields, his hands uncalloused, and his snow crystals are too noticeable. He can pass for some time, but Yuuri will have to be quick.

 

No worries. He’s been quick before.

 

He leaves his sword with Victor, warning him to be watchful, before he changes in a small closet space he finds empty, taking off unnecessary furs and struggling not to feel observed. There are eyes everywhere. Once he’s got his clothes on, he messes up his hair a bit, erases some of the bags under his eyes with powder Mari and him used to buy at the Hasetsu market, and nods, satisfied.

 

Yuuri walks out of the small closet swishing his hips and letting  _ just _ enough of his chest show, and ten different men and women turn to stare at him. Victor, from where he’s skulking near a table in the back, drops his glass noisily on the floor, eyes wide.

 

_ Aren’t you supposed to be subtle? _ Yuuri muses, slightly excited. He doesn’t really unsettle Victor much, and it’s nice to see him lose his composure a little. 

 

He seduces the guy into telling him all the possible info, dropping spare touches on his arm and fluttering his eyelashes. He makes sure to trail his fingers all over the man’s face, and leaves before the guy realizes he’s just spilled important data to a travelling man working at a nearby ‘entertainment venue’ (code for pleasure house).

 

“...I did not expect that,” Victor gulps when they’re out of the tavern, glancing back at him, already wearing his regular clothes, in amazement. “That was...extremely educational.”

 

“Oh, really?” Yuuri blinks innocently, very purposefully pulling on his sword’s hilt before letting it drop all the way into its sheathe, watching Victor’s eyes track the movement. “I think I held back too much.” His heart is beating its way out of his chest, but he powers through. “If you want to learn though,” he licks his lips unconsciously. “I could always teach you.”

 

Victor lets out the tiniest whimper he’s ever heard, chest quivering up and down, and quickly walks ahead.

 

…

 

“I know!” Yuuri shoots up from the dinner table, breathless, with his cheeks flushed red. “I finally know what my eros is!”

 

He turns to look at Victor triumphantly, curling his fingers into his fist, “Pork cutlet bowl!”

 

For a moment, Victor wants to tear his hair out, to shake him and tell him, “ _ No _ .”, because he’s seen Yuuri’s eros, seen him seduce him more expertly than anyone he’s ever met in his life, reeling him in and digging his hook all the way in. He wants to kiss him until he can’t think, his head is dizzy, and he finally lets go.

 

But Yuuri isn’t ready, that’s plain to see. Yuuri shuts the door at night, and hesitates when Victor is close, blushes at proximity incredibly easily. Yuuri is still figuring out what he wants, apparently, and the fact that he might have made the first move while drunk can’t change that. He’s going to have to be patient; it’s worth it, for a guy like Yuuri.

 

So Victor beams at him, grabs his arm, and declares, “Then you will be the pork cutlet bowl that enthralls men!”

 

The way Yuuri smiles at him, relieved and reassured in his choice, lets him know he did the right thing.

 

…

 

The Dragon spirit is at the top of the mountain - at least, that was what Yuuri’s informant claimed - in an area without many trees but near a stream, so the nymph can feed off its energy. There’s a minimum of two days travelling uphill in desolate terrain until they reach its hideout, and it’ll be tough, with no moment to rest. It’s extremely dangerous to fall asleep while so close to a main spirit; anything can attack, masking themselves with the spirit wards; basic spirits sneak into dreams if they’re strengthened by the main spirit’s power, and the mind must be alert at all times to stop nymph possession.

 

Yuuri knows this. He’s lived amongst nymphs for the better part of his childhood; Japan was a disaster that fell quickly enough, but nymphs followed their journey all the way out of the island, attaching their main spirits to vessels and landing in fertile grounds. 

 

Nymphs are terrible, parasitic creatures who barely have any distinguishable emotions and lack an organized society. Contrary to what the stories said about them before they took over, nymphs aren’t beautiful maidens with kind words, but shorter, sickly-looking tiny women with sunken cheeks and bottomless black eyes. Yuuri won’t ever get the image of a nymph spreading her wings as she flew away with a child out of his mind, not for as long as he lives - her yellowed teeth shining, her claws wrapping around the baby, the way she  _ glowed _ as her feet touched the earth. 

 

They are distinctively non-human, and they aren’t mages, either. No one could mistake a nymph for them. They don’t have feelings, they don’t lure unsuspecting travellers to their doom. It’s almost ridiculous, how easy it is to hate them for sucking the life out of their home, out of their people, out of their hope.

 

But their blood is just as red as Yuuri’s is. And the screams of terrified agony - high-pitched, desperate, pleading - as he drives his sword through them while not allowing himself to falter, sound just like people’s.

 

“Do you want to do this?” Yuuri asks, swallowing hard. He’s been through too much to give up now; he’s already killed nymphs before. But Victor… Victor fights because he wants to practice his magic in peace, because he smiles at his ice crystals and draws snow mustaches on Yuuri’s face while he’s sleeping. Victor fights for the Academy, for his apprentice, a boy named Yuri, too. 

 

Victor deserves better than risking his life alongside a mediocre knight; he deserves battalions, legions,  _ armies _ .

 

Victor’s standing in the middle of the path, his bag with their provisions lying at his feet. His hair falls loosely all over his shoulders, covering up his hood. He looks at Yuuri, and says, very quietly, “I want to fight with you.”

 

“Are you certain?” Yuuri  _ needs _ to know. He takes a step forward, biting his lower lip. “Victor, are you  _ sure _ -?”

 

“I want to court you properly, you know,” Victor cuts him off, eyes fixed on the outline of the mountain in front of  them. “I want you to get to know my apprentice. I want…” His hand curls into a fist, cold wind whipping his hair back. “I want to fall asleep next to you on the road without fear, Yuuri.” He finally looks up, determined. “I can’t be with you until I die if there’s creatures trying to kill us every second now, can I?” He smiles, amused. “And I still haven’t introduced you to the mage academy scholars, Yakov would never forgive me for marrying without his approval, anyway -”

 

Victor doesn’t continue then, but that’s because it’d be a little complicated, what with Yuuri’s lips monopolizing his mouth for the moment.

 

…

 

It’s cold, Barcelona.

 

Not as cold as St. Petersburg, of course; Spain’s got nothing on that. But cold enough that Victor sees Yuuri - sniffing every couple of minutes and sneezing - and frets, wrapping scarf after scarf around his neck, taking out gloves from every pocket he has, not even hesitating to warm up his face with breathless kisses.

 

“ _ Victor _ ,” Yuuri whines, pushing him away slightly. “We’re in the middle of the street!”

 

“But you’re  _ freezing _ ,” Victor pouts, wrapping his arms around Yuuri stubbornly. It’s almost his birthday, goddamnit, isn’t he allowed to hold his lover close, at least? “You’re not used to these cold winters.”

 

Yuuri raises an eyebrow at him, a small, amused smile on his lips, “I’m from Japan, not Brazil, Victor. I’ve seen snow before.”

 

“Was it frightening?” Victor teases.

 

“You’re sleeping on the couch tonight, I hope you know that.”

 

“So  _ cruel _ ,” Victor clutches at his chest desperately, biting his lip to keep himself from smiling. He knows Yuuri enjoys thinking his threats come off as serious most of the time, when really anyone can see from a mile away that he crumbles in the face of puppy dog eyes. Yuri has so far gotten soda six out of the six times Yuuri swore not to let him have some. His Grandpa hates them and won’t allow the kid to stay at their place.

 

“Hmph,” Yuuri rolls his eyes. “I can see when you’re being patronizing, Victor!”

 

“Right,” Victor replies cheerfully, dropping another kiss on his cheek.

 

“I-I’m telling you,” Yuuri chokes out between giggles. Ooh, ticklish. “This is so embarrassing…”

 

“No one knows you,” Victor whispers, his lips brushing Yuuri’s cheekbone as he moves to speak into his ear. “We can just have fun here.”

 

“Yeah,” Yuuri whispers back, and then says. “Except for the fact that there’s two teenagers taking pictures of you.”

 

Victor turns automatically. It’s true; two teens wearing ‘I HEART NIKIFOROV’ t-shirts with his face plastered on the front. The minute they notice him being aware of their presence, the short one screams and grabs the other one’s forearm in what seems like a death grip, before yelling, “ _ ¡No me lo puedo ni creer, tía! Aaaaaah, nos está mirando.” _

 

Victor doesn’t know much Spanish, but he’s willing to bet there’s something about how cool he is, right there.

 

“They’re saying you’ve gotten old,” Yuuri tells him, as if the git knew Spanish.

 

“That is a  _ lie _ ,” Victor gasps, quickly switching his attention to glare at Yuuri. “I am  _ not _ old. And even if I  _ were _ ,” Victor flicks his hair, “I would still look amazing.”

 

“You’ve spent the last few months drinking and binge-eating pork cutlet bowl while you had me on the steamed vegetable and pure protein diet,” Yuuri reminds him. That comes up a lot, in their arguments. Yuuri’s not the diet kind of guy, regardless of how loyal to his career he is. Victor currently has three chocolate boxes hidden in his part of the closet. “You deserve to be called all the insults in the world.”

 

“You still love me, though,” Victor says, his voice soft. He reaches out for Yuuri’s hand, and he immediately takes it, entwining their fingers without thinking. It’s become almost second nature these days, to reach out and find Yuuri waiting, to wait until Yuuri reaches out to him. 

 

“Yeah, Vitya,” Yuuri goes on his tiptoes, gracing him with a single kiss on the tip of his nose and chuckling when he blushes bright red. “I still love you.”

 

…

 

Yuuri has never doubted the fact that Victor is strong. He’s always known that, and has worked tirelessly to match his level and grant him a chance against their enemies, to cover for him and compliment his style. 

 

They’re strong, together.

 

The Dragon is stronger.

 

…

 

“Victor,” Yuuri starts. He looks troubled, his fingers curling into a fist on top of his thighs.  

 

“Yes?” Victor smiles, trying to be reassuring. Tomorrow’s the final, and they’re  _ engaged _ . It’s only natural that he gets nervous, especially if it’s Yuuri. He just hopes his anxiety isn’t too bad.

 

“Victor,” Yuuri begins once more, voice firm. “After the Grand Prix Final, let’s end this.”

 

…

 

It all starts to go wrong once Yuuri lets himself think they can actually do this.

 

They caught the Dragon while it was resting, thanks to Victor’s stealth, and managed to attack it in quick, efficient hits, staying light on their feet and saving energy for the entire battle. Even when the situation worsens, when the Dragon rises up to its full height, glorious and lethal, they maintain their composure, making sure that everything goes according to the plan. 

 

The spirit feeds on the nymph to gain its power and although she’ll likely be aware that losing the guardian to her region is not a viable option, she’ll still take time to redirect her powers to one particular entity. Besides, she won’t be able to keep it up for long if someone else chooses to fight her. They must wear the Dragon out then, must outlast it. This nymph isn’t like the half-dead ones Yuuri’s seen in the wastelands or on the paths, the ones who can barely muster up three basic defense spirits. It’ll be dangerous.

 

They’re doing well, and then Yuuri gets hit by the spirit’s blast of pure white fire.

 

It’s unlike anything he’s ever experienced before. Yuuri has been stabbed, has been stepped on, thrown against walls, hit, slapped, has survived attempted drownings… he’s known violence all his life, has grown to expect it rather than recoil at the first sign of it, to accept it as part of his life. 

 

But then the flames lick his skin, teasing and biting, and he starts screaming.

 

It  _ bites _ at him, gnaws on his body, ripping apart the folds that keep him together. There’s nothing to run away from, nothing to shake off, no wound to put pressure on, no possible remedy - there’s just heat, unbearable, eating away without mercy, burning through cloth to sink its claws into him and make him choke.

 

He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe  _ he can’t breathe _ .

 

\- cold.

 

Yuuri’s body cools down immediately, a change in temperature so brusque he feels dizzy with it, panting and clawing at his throat. He’s shivering while his blood pulses from the fire, while red rivers leak out of his red-hot wounds. There’s snow on the ground where he’s lying, he can feel it cushioning his body, recognizes its texture from being around it so much because of -

 

“... -uuri,  _ Yuuri, oh for the Mage’s soul, Yuuri, pl- please _ .”

 

“V-Victor,” he rasps out. “Victor,” he repeats. 

 

“I’m here,” Victor chokes out. Yuuri can’t open his eyes, but his heart constricts at the pure agony in Victor’s voice, gut-wrenching. “Yuuri, come on, I have to get you  _ something _ -”

 

Neither of them are healers. The most Yuuri can do is tie a tourniquet, from days at the camps he and his family stayed at, but his knowledge of medicine doesn’t extend to burns like this. He can’t - he’s not sure he’ll survive this.

 

“Dragon,” he whispers, coughing. He manages to see a little, from between his eyelashes. Victor still looks gorgeous, even when his vision is blurry. It makes him want to  smile, a little,  and touch his cheek. He looks really worried. Victor shouldn’t be that worried about him.“Dragon.” he insists.

 

“I don’t  _ care _ about the stupid Dragon,” Victor bites out, as if they haven’t spent the last few days chasing after it, sacrificing hours and hours of sleep and  _ time _ because of it. He’s crouching protectively on top of him,  “Yuuri, stay with me, I’m begging you.”

 

“You’re pretty,” Yuuri blurts out, woozy. It all hurts so much. The words seem to come from far away. “Want to dance?”

 

“What -? Nevermind,” Victor dismisses it, fussing over him. His hands are shaking. Why are they shaking? It’s still cold, but Victor’s immune to that. And anyway, the place is heating up. Yuuri’s hot. Should he be hot? That doesn’t sound right. “My wards won’t hold for much longer, we need to get you somewhere  _ safe _ , I’m going to call Otabek, he can help you -”

 

“Be my coach, Victor,” Yuuri slurs, barely conscious.

 

…

 

Victor doesn’t notice he’s started to cry until his tears are pooling together on his lap.

 

…

Yuuri comes to with the worst headache he’s had in his life, spitting out blood as he writhes on the floor. 

 

The cold - the sweet, blessed cold - is gone, and now there’s fire again, except his skin isn’t the one suffering under it this time. It’s everywhere, poisoning the air, making him cough black smoke and struggle to breathe. The only thought on his mind is -  _ where is Victor? _

 

…

 

“I’m retiring, after this,” Yuuri says, with that half-smile of his Victor knows better than he knows his own hand, the half-smile that fights to show how completely happy he is with what he’s saying, while burying the regret underneath.

 

Victor imagines a world in which he skates and Yuuri  _ doesn’t _ \- a world in which Yuuri doesn’t spend his morning hours lazing in the rink, in which he doesn’t stay up until 3 am because that’s when the best offers for skating equipment come in, in which he doesn’t rehearse jumps in Victor’s living room, accidentally breaking his lamp for the fourth time. Figure skating has become so deeply integrated into what he associates as  _ Yuuri _ in the time they’ve known each other that, although he can say without a doubt that he’d stay with Yuuri regardless of whatever he did with his career, he doesn’t know if Yuuri would be happy with that.

 

If Yuuri would want that. 

 

“Your career isn’t dead, Yuuri,” he whispers, trying not to plead and yet desperately wishing to.

 

“It’s dying,” his fiancé murmurs, shrugging.

 

…

 

Victor’s losing.

 

Victor’s fighting on his own at the top of the mountain, defending himself  _ and _ Yuuri as best as he can. He’s on his last resources of power; Yuuri can tell by the way there’s no snow around him like there always is, just faint droplets of water hanging in the air. 

 

“Victor!” Yuuri yells, wincing at the sound of his voice. His lungs are filled with smoke. “Victor, I’m coming!”

 

For a moment, Victor turns, his blue eyes widening, his lips quivering with relief before they decide on an exhausted smile. His shoulders go down, losing some of their tension. He says, “ _ Yuuri _ -”

 

That’s the precise second when the Dragon’s claw comes down, almost as if in slow motion, and tears through his neck like it’s sandpaper.

 

…

 

“Oh my god,” Yuuri breathes, eyes following the shape moving on the TV screen. “Who  _ is _ that?”

 

“That’s Victor Nikiforov,” Yuuko answers, not missing a beat. She sounds giddy, grabbing his hands to get his attention. Her ponytail swings from side to side as she gushes. “He’s like, the best skater in the  _ world _ . Can you believe he’s only 14?”

 

“...Yeah, I can believe it.” 

 

There’s something familiar about Victor Nikiforov, something that calls out to Yuuri immediately. He moves swiftly and surely, like the ice is his element, like his jumps are supported by rising and falling tides. 

 

He’s watching him, curious and interested, when Victor Nikiforov gives a  _ look _ at the camera after his spread eagle - an intimate, heated glance accompanied by a perfectly delivered wink, and Yuuri’s heart skips a beat.

 

He bites his lower lip, “Hey, Yuuko, can we learn that program?”

 

Maybe he could meet him at a competition one day.

 

_ Yeah, right _ , Yuuri sighs much later as they’re actually practicing the program, which is absurdly complicated. He purses his lips. As if he’d meet the best skater in the world. _ In another life _ .   
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a mess wow  
> thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Comments and Kudos are appreciated. Find me on tumblr @i-read-good-books


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